A shrill scream sliced the frigid morning air, echoing down the marble corridors of Hemsworth Manor, shattering uneasy silence. Detective Clara Fields arrived swiftly, her breath clouding as she stepped through the grand entrance, eyes narrowed, senses trained for detail. A crystal chandelier flickered overhead, dim light casting long shadows over the lifeless figure sprawled across the ornate Persian rug. Blood pooled beneath the victim’s delicate hand, a crimson stain creeping outward, soaking into intricate patterns of blue and gold. Family members gathered nervously at the threshold, their anxious whispers bouncing off gilded walls, searching for explanations amid growing dread. A broken teacup glinted underfoot, shards scattered across polished hardwood like clues waiting to be pieced together by keen observation. As thunder rolled outside, Clara knelt beside the body, her gloved fingers hovering over a single, handwritten note clutched tightly. The grandfather clock chimed eight, its somber tone marking time’s relentless march and beginning of a night no one would forget.