ISAAC BROWN'S MANSION
Isaac Brown tossed and turned in bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind like a tormenting loop. He had thought that by now he would have figured something out, but he was wrong. As the hours passed, it only got worse.
Beside him, his wife stirred, her sleep interrupted by his constant movement. She turned to face him, her voice groggy yet concerned. “Isaac, what’s going on? You’ve been tossing and turning for hours. You should be resting,” she said.
“It’s nothing, Rita,” he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m fine.”
Rita propped herself up on one elbow, her expression skeptical. “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well. Something’s bothering you, so just spit it out. What is the matter?”
Isaac sighed, running a hand over his face. “Miguel
