DARRAGH’S POV

The last of the mourners were finally leaving. I stood at the window in Dad's old office, watching them walk back down the long driveway toward the main gates. Some clustered together in small groups, talking in hushed voices. Others walked alone, their heads down, lost in their own thoughts.

The office still smelled like him. Leather and tobacco and that expensive cologne he always wore. I'd have to do something about that eventually. Change the curtains, replace the furniture, ...