It was almost six, and the sun lost some of its radiance as it started to set, but it was still bright and high enough in the sky to create spectacular evening shadows overlooking from the floor to ceiling glass window of the terrace located on the second floor of the elegant Crawford Mansion.
The silence that eerily covered the mansion earlier had been replaced by the sound of excited voices planning for the grand ball. Occupying the single sofa that looked like a King's elegant throne was Alexander Crawford seated comfortably against the soft cushion, papers in hand, ignoring the chaos around him.
