Mansion -alibi- Apr 2026

"The mansion keeps no secrets," Mara said, pulling out her handcuffs. "It just waits for someone smart enough to listen."

"You went to him. You argued. He threatened to cut you off. You pushed, or he fell. Then you ran back to the east wing, lit a candle to see your own terror, and called Silas. Your lover. Your co-conspirator. He arrived not at nine, but at ten. After the murder. And the two of you spent an hour crafting the perfect, useless alibi."

"About the documents?"

"Reading," Mara repeated, finally turning. Her eyes swept past Elara to the tall, silent figure by the fireplace. Silas Crane, the family’s lawyer. He held a snifter of brandy he hadn't touched. "And you, Mr. Crane? You were with her?"

"But you, Silas," Mara said, turning to the lawyer. "You know the house. You installed the generator yourself last spring. You knew the east wing would be blind. So you sat in the dark with her. Or did you?" Mansion -Alibi-

Elara’s composure flickered—a single, hairline crack. "We had water brought up. The staff…"

Elara looked at Silas. Silas looked at the floor. The chandelier’s crystals tinkled once, softly, as if laughing. "The mansion keeps no secrets," Mara said, pulling

Detective Mara Vance stood in the center of the grand foyer, her wet coat dripping onto a mosaic of cerulean and gold. Above her, a chandelier the size of a small car glittered with malevolent indifference. The body of Julian Blackwood lay at the foot of the grand staircase, his sightless eyes aimed at the front door he’d never reached.