Prologue

He lived alone in a large old house that topped the hill. No one remembered when he had last been to the small hamlet they called home. It was said you could hear him crying when the evenings were still. No one knew why and worse, no one cared anymore.

The house was overgrown and unkempt with paint faded over the passage of seasons. Time marched on, never halting for those who wanted it to. You could not turn back the hands of it no matter how hard you tried. And how he had tried over and over again, but it was not to be. He lived what looked to all who saw, a life he had in the past. Those happier times of his youth were what kept him going.

The house held him prisoner to those times, the faded pictures and memories of laughter keeping him from the world outside. His solicitors took care of the need to venture into that outside world. Their orders had been laid out-years before: Invest his funds, pay his bills, keep him fed and provide an accounting every year. They were paid well and the job of providing the accounting was given to the newest associate of the firm to deliver.