Detective Miles Corbin surveyed the opulent, silent ballroom, moonlight slicing through dusty, tall windows. A single, ornate music box lay open, its delicate melody long since stilled. The air hung thick with an unnatural quiet, heavy with unspoken, morbid secrets. His gaze landed on Sterling Blackwood, draped across the grand piano’s slick, ebony lid. Blackwood, a notorious collector, was now just a crimson stain, a tragic, lifeless display. A rare, ancient dagger protruded from his chest, its jewels gleaming malevolently. Corbin noted the almost theatrical placement, a morbid, deliberate work of art. This was no simple robbery; it felt like a pointed, personal message. Every detail hinted at a meticulously planned, vengeful, intricate plot. He would meticulously unravel this dark, perplexing, tragic human riddle.