The late evening at the Livingston Mansion always seemed particularly ominous. The shadows dancing on the walls from the flames in the fireplace seemed to come to life, playing on the nerves of everyone who was in the house. The storm outside the windows had subsided, but the tension that permeated this evening seemed to only increase.

Arthur Havelock was sitting in a large armchair by the fireplace, thoughtfully studying the pages of his notebook. The interrogations conducted during the day gave him plenty of food for thought. The emotions of the family members and their hidden conflicts began to take shape in a bizarre but still incomplete picture. He knew that unexpected discoveries were ahead of him.

"Are you always so focused on your work, Mr. Havelock?" Margaret Livingston suddenly broke the silence by appearing in the doorway. She was wearing a light silk robe, and in her hands was a cup of tea.

She walked over to the chair opposite and sat down, looking at the detective intently. Her eyes were full of fatigue, but there was a certain determination in them. There was a feeling that Lady Livingston was ready to reveal something important.

"When there's no time, emotions fade into the background," Havelock replied, without taking his eyes off his notes. — And now, I believe, time is not playing in our favor.

"You're right,— she nodded, wrapping her cold fingers around the cup. — This house… He's taking too much. Not only for me, but also for my children.

The rest of the family soon joined the conversation. Harold and Eliot looked a little tense, as if they could no longer bear this endless circle of mutual suspicion. Havelock noticed that there was an invisible thread of unspoken conflict between the brothers—perhaps the result of recent conversations. They tried not to cross eyes, and Margaret, who was sitting next to them, watched their behavior with concern.

"We're all in a difficult situation right now," Harold began, rubbing his temples. "But don't lose your temper. We have to trust Mr. Havelock. He's trying to solve this case, and our safety depends on him alone.

Eliot crossed his arms over his chest and slowly looked up at his brother.

— Trust me? What do you know about trust, Harold? Lately, you've been acting like you're hiding something.

Harold glanced at the detective. — I'm only acting in the best interests of our family. All this time, I've been trying to preserve her legacy, and not let our business be consumed by my father's crazy ideas.

Eliot chuckled, but his smile expressed nothing but bitterness.

— If the legacy is all that matters to you, then perhaps you were willing to do anything to preserve it.

The silence that followed his words seemed tangible. The tension in the air was becoming more and more unbearable.

Margaret, it seemed, could no longer stand this confrontation. Her face paled, and she pressed her palms to her temples, as if trying to cope with a sudden attack of headache.

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—That's enough," she whispered, barely audible, then louder, "I can't hide it anymore."

Havelock immediately turned his head in her direction, catching the change in her tone. She knew something that she had been hiding from everyone all this time. She was ready to reveal something important.

"What are you talking about, Lady Livingston?" "What is it?" he asked cautiously, giving her space for revelation.

—My husband... he wasn't the man you imagine him to be," her voice trembled, but she continued to speak. — He was really obsessed with the idea of immortality. But not just for myself. He wanted to convey this... to his heirs.

Eliot and Harold exchanged glances, each of them looking at his mother in surprise.

— He was sure that he had found a way to prolong his life... And... he even began to conduct his experiments using ancient texts and rituals that he found in our archive.

Havelock leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with interest.

— Experiments? What kind of experiments?

Margaret sighed, her face a mixture of disgust and fear.

— He was looking for a way to transfer his soul... into another body. He believed that this was the key to eternal life.

These words hung in the air, and then exploded like a bolt from the blue. Everything fell into place. Lord Livingston was not just an eccentric scientist. His quest for immortality turned into a dark obsession. Havelock realized that this obsession could lead him to create enemies within his own family.

— Do you think that one of the family members could have killed him to stop these experiments? Havelock asked, his voice full of tension.

Margaret nodded, her eyes filled with tears.

— One of us. Or all of them together.

A late-night conversation by the fireplace revealed the dark secrets of the Livingston family. Lord's obsession with ancient rituals, his quest for immortality and experiments on the soul gave Havelock a new clue. But at the same time, it complicated matters — now every member of the family seemed to be involved in this terrible game.

Harold, despite his commitment to preserving his legacy, may have decided to stop his father in order to protect his family. Eliot, being more sensitive, could resist the immorality of the experiments. And Margaret, in an attempt to protect her children, could decide to take a desperate step.

But there was another thought: perhaps Lord Livingston himself had led his family to destruction. His experiments could reveal more than just the secret of eternal life. And perhaps someone from the outside forces associated with this dark knowledge was also involved in the murder.

Arthur Havelock slowly finished his cup of tea, his thoughts full of contradictions. An evening by the fireplace gave more questions than answers. But now he knew that the killer was not just a criminal, but a man who found himself on the verge between common sense and madness, between fear and the desire to control his fate.

It was going to be a long night.

Eliot, Livingston's youngest son, always looked more distant. He seemed far from family affairs and worries, living in his own world. Havelock realized that it was necessary to talk to him in a different way — through his hidden emotions and possible weaknesses.

When Havelock entered Eliot's room, he was standing at the window, looking thoughtfully at the courtyard. A light breeze blew through his hair, and a shadow of thoughtfulness played on his face.

— Did you find something? Eliot asked without turning his head.

—Perhaps,— Havelock replied cautiously. — But I need to understand your relationship with your father better. Unlike Harold, you've always been his favorite son, haven't you?

Eliot chuckled, his face turning hard.

— Loved? This is ridiculous. I was just a "hope" for him. He saw me as a reflection of his own ambitions, nothing more. He wanted me to follow him in his madness. And I just... backed off.

— Have they retreated? Or were you watching from the sidelines? Havelock asked, trying to figure out if Eliot was really as passive as he seemed.

— I was watching. He plunged deeper into his research. I've seen him wallowing in his theories about immortality," Eliot turned away from the window and looked at Havelock. "But I never thought it would come to murder."

Havelock sensed that there was more to these words than just disappointment. There was a hint of guilt and fear in Eliot's voice.

"You knew it would lead to tragedy, but you didn't stop him," Havelock concluded, and Eliot didn't deny it.

After the interrogations, Havelock began to piece together the emotional bonds between family members. Harold had a deep dislike for his father because of his control and neglect. Eliot, despite his ostentatious detachment, felt like a prisoner of his father's expectations. Margaret, although she loved her husband, could not stand his obsession and desire for something unnatural.

Each of them had a motive, each hid dark emotions. And the deeper Havelock delved into their relationship, the more he realized that the murder of Lord Livingston was not only the result of cold calculation, but also the result of years of accumulated resentment and tension.

But were these emotions the key to the murder? Or were there forces behind all this, connected with the secret order and its strange rituals? Havelock knew that he was about to make another important discovery—the moment when motivation and truth would finally merge into one.

So far, each member of the family seemed to be only a part of a great tragedy, in which fear, love, hatred and futile attempts to understand oneself were intertwined.