Then there was the locked East wing. It had remained unopened for decades together, and no one exactly knew what it held. The rooms there were mostly those belonging to Andrew’s late aunt, but sealed as it was, nobody, including the caretaker, had set foot inside it for years. At least that, Andrew knew, he could have it opened soon.
The deed to the estate gave him no comfort. He skimmed it idly at first, only to frown. The word “garden” repeated with unusual frequency, far beyond necessity. Why emphasize it so much? The phrasing felt deliberate, out of rhythm, almost like a riddle disguised as a legal conundrum.