The grandfather clock struck midnight as Detective Sarah Chen entered the Victorian mansion through its heavy oak front door. Lightning illuminated the library where Professor James Wellington lay motionless on the Persian rug beside his mahogany writing desk. Blood pooled beneath his silver hair while an antique letter opener protruded from between his shoulder blades with precision. Six dinner guests remained in the drawing room, their champagne glasses untouched and their evening clothes splattered with raindrops. The butler stood frozen near the fireplace, his white gloves trembling as he clutched a silver serving tray tightly. Sarah noticed the window stood open despite the storm, its curtains dancing wildly in the cold October wind outside. A single muddy footprint marked the windowsill, too large for any of the guests she had seen so far. The professor's reading glasses lay shattered on the floor, their lenses reflecting the flickering light from the dying fire.