The ancestral manor of the Cross family in Bedford Hills was a solemn, stone-built Tudor estate surrounded by fifty acres of ancient weeping willows and manicured gardens. It was eight o'clock on Thursday evening. Adrian Cross walked into the dimly lit great hall, his footsteps echoing against the flagstone floor. The manor smelled of aged cedar, beeswax, and the heavy weight of three generations of family history. Family portraits lined…
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