King's Cross

One.

The rich bliss. The having everything you've ever wanted just because you can afford it luxury. The being super stuck up and asshole-ish because, really, who is going to argue with a billionaire when they can just ask for money in return for their silence? And that's exactly what all the rich families of King's Cross thought. With their heads -- or maybe it was their money -- shoved so far up their ass that they were totally oblivious to anything that happened in their overly large neighborhood.

So when the knock sounded on the door of Gabriel Motley's white marble mansion, the twenty something year old boy thought none of it. In fact, he lacked so much care he practically ignored it until the doorbell sounded. But even then he did not get up from his black leather couch, seated in front of the warm, crackling fire.

The doorbell sounded again.

And again.

And again.

Until Gabriel was so fed up with the sound of his own door bell that he stormed to the door, ripped it open, and froze. Confusion struck his features like the strike of a clock. There was no one at the door, no one on the sidewalk, no one anywhere in sight on his vast amounts of land that was miles away from the rest of the neighborhood as this neighborhood was filled with only large lots that gave the illusion of living out in the country without the absurd notion of being nowhere near any sort of shops.

Gabriel frowned at the sight. Someone was playing a game with him and he did not appreciate it. He started to turn to close the door and go back to tending to his business on the couch when a glint caught the corner of his eye. There was a small letter sitting on his door mat that clearly read "Go Away". He picked the letter up, ripping the gold seal that had caught his attention and read the letter.

Gabriel Motley,

You have been cordially invited to the Whitmon Murder Mystery Dinner.

We ask that you wear your nicest clothing and arrive about fifteen minutes early.

We appreciate your attendance.

Below the message was the address of the mansion and a date and time. He scoffed at the letter and slammed the door shut behind him. This was really what was so important that whoever left it on his doorstep had to be so much of a bother as to disturb him from sitting on the couch?

"Could have just put it in my mailbox." Gabriel grumbled under his breath, tossing the letter on his black granite countertops. It flipped over on its travel through the air and to the counter. More words were scribbled on the back in fine cursive.

We know what you're hiding and unless you want the rest of the world to know, we advise you attend.

Jessica Whitmon

He took a gulp and sat slowly into his bar stool. Nobody knew his secrets. He was rich and cunning, he made sure no one knew. And well, if they did, their life was very short lived. Gabriel's face was pale as he thought about the cursive writing. He didn't know anyone with that sort of handwriting, most the people he worked with were men with chicken scratch for writing.

It looked like he was going to the dinner. If only to find out who knew his deadly secret to his wealth. He glanced again at the letter and flipped it over, examining the address. It was only a few mansions down from his, though that was a few miles away, he had no choice.