That was the moment the gates opened.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided into the driveway.
It moved with the kind of silence that makes people stop speaking without knowing why.
The car came to rest in front of the house.
The driver stepped out first.
Then the rear door opened.
A tall man in a navy coat stepped onto the stone drive.
He carried himself with unsettling ease.
Not flashy.
Not theatrical.
Just absolute certainty.
His hair was silver at the temples.
His shoulders were square.
His face was composed in that dangerous way some men have when they no longer need anyone’s approval.
Richard saw him first.
I watched the blood drain from my father-in-law’s face so quickly that for a second I thought he might actually collapse.
His hand shot out and gripped the back of a leather chair.
“No,” he whispered.
Diane turned.
“What is it?”
Richard did not answer.
His eyes stayed fixed on the man approaching the front steps.
