The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floor of George's Chicago apartment, painting the room in shades of amber and gold. It had been three weeks since the press conference about Alan Whitfield, three weeks since George had finally uncovered the last piece of his father's web of secrets. The silence that followed had been strange, almost unsettling after years of constant revelations and chaos.
George sat on the couch, a cup of tea growing cold in his hands. He'd been staring at the same page of a book for the past hour without reading a single word. His mind was elsewhere, drifting through memories and questions that still lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
Sam found him there, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. She sat down beside him and gently took the b
