There was a flicker of … something, across Zechariah’s face.

That was kind of sad. God, this was going to be so easy.

“Surely your siblings cannot be hoarding all the spare rooms in this manse,” he mused, partly to himself. “Meet me at the door. Seven. We can sort out the rest from there.”

If Darius happened to rifle through them before his mother got there first, Zechariah’s business card sat in the hallway card tray atwixt many others, corner folded. It had his London and York offices on it.

Darius nodded and stood. "I suppose I'll show you out." He wrote quickly about meeting him at the door at seven, else he'd forget.

"There are plenty of rooms, but I'm not one who just randomly takes residence in one that I don't feel comfortable in. And most of this house may as well be a stranger's home." He gave a small dramatic sigh as he walked to the front door. He really did hope this guy would help him and then the entire estate could be his.