The morning fog clung desperately to Willowbrook Manor's gothic towers, concealing secrets that would soon demand their terrible price from everyone. Detective Sarah Chen stepped carefully through the ornate front doors, her practical shoes echoing against cold marble floors below her. Lord Pemberton's lifeless body sprawled across his mahogany desk, a silver letter opener protruding from between his shoulder blades menacingly. Blood had pooled beneath expensive leather portfolios, staining important documents that now seemed utterly worthless compared to one human life. The study's French doors stood wide open, allowing autumn wind to scatter yellowed papers like confetti across the crime scene. Chen noticed the grandfather clock had stopped at precisely eleven forty-seven, though she wondered if this detail held significance. Footprints in the garden mud suggested someone had fled hastily through the rose bushes, leaving thorns and desperation behind. The detective's trained eyes catalogued every detail: overturned brandy snifter, scattered chess pieces, and one missing family photograph frame. She knew that within these walls lived potential killers, each harboring motives as dark as the storm clouds overhead.