Have you heard of the man who died in his own locked study? You are the family’s trusted lawyer, reviewing the will. The air smells of old paper and polished wood. The widow whispers the deceased feared a ‘blood feud’—a vendetta from the past.
A coded ledger falls from a book. It mentions a ‘Cicero cipher’. Your phone buzzes with an anonymous text: “Stop digging.” The study door slams shut, trapping you inside. The temperature drops sharply.
You find a silver locket under the desk, engraved with a strange sigil. It feels ice-cold. The housekeeper recalls the victim receiving a wax-sealed letter days prior. She mutters about ‘poisoned ink’.
You trace the locket to a closed antique shop. Dust hangs thick in the air. A floorboard creaks behind you. A shadow lunges, and a sharp pain blooms on your temple.
Deciphering the ledger reveals payments to a secret society. The locket’s sigil matches their mark. The widow’s grief seems staged, her eyes too dry.
The final entry points to a safe deposit box. Inside lies a confession… in the widow’s handwriting. It details a long-planned revenge for a past betrayal.
But the handwriting is a perfect forgery. The real killer left one clue: a faint smell of formaldehyde on the wax seal, linking to the family doctor.
