On Wednesday afternoon, the autumn mist drifted low over the manicured boxwood gardens of the Mercer Island estate. Four commercial moving vans were parked on the circular gravel driveway as professional movers carried out the remaining antique furniture, tapestries, and ancestral portraits that had defined the Hayes dynasty for sixty years. Gwen Hayes stood by the grand front pillars, wrapped in a black cashmere coat, her face pale, drawn, and…
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