The wooden chair in the cramped office was surprisingly uncomfortable, despite its padded seat. I shifted slightly, glancing at the clock on the wall that marked 3:17 PM. Across the desk, Mr. Hargrove, the estate attorney, sifted through a pile of documents. His tie was slightly askew, a detail that seemed out of place in the otherwise meticulously organized room. “Here it is,” he said finally, sliding an envelope across the table. Its weight and thickness were unsettling. I hesitated before picking it up, noting the date on the label—August 15, 2023. “Everything’s in there,” he added calmly, as if he were discussing the weather. His words hung in the air, quiet yet heavy. I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, though my mind raced with questions. The room’s silence was only broken by the distant hum of a photocopier. I knew this was just the beginning, not the end. There was more to uncover, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to step into something far more complicated than I had anticipated.
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