The Vance family estate was a sprawling, gothic masterpiece perched on a cliffside overlooking the churning Pacific Ocean. Under normal circumstances, it was a sanctuary of wealth and refined taste. Today, it was a tomb.

The relentless Monterey rain beat against the towering stained-glass windows,

The offices of Croft, Sterling & Hale occupied the top three floors of a shimmering glass skyscraper in downtown San Francisco. It was a world of hushed voices, deep pile carpets, and panoramic views of the bay—a stark contrast to the churning storm that still battered the coast, and the darker stor

The 12th Precinct of the San Francisco Police Department smelled distinctly of stale coffee, damp wool, and floor wax. It was a bleak, chaotic environment that buzzed with the cynical energy of overworked cops and underpaid clerks.

Clara Vance did not belong here.

Dressed in a tailored charcoal