The grandfather clock in the corner of the Beacon Street library ticked with measured, rhythmic precision, each second sounding like a mallet striking wood. Claire sat frozen in her leather armchair, her breath caught in her throat as she processed Douglas Thorne's words. 'Co-Executors?' Claire repeated, her voice incredulous, her analytical mind immediately calculating the legal and professional implications. 'Mr. Thorne, with all due respect to Mr. Vance's memory, this…
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