CHAPTER 8: August Whitacre Enters the Drive

A black sedan arrived without sirens.
That made everyone on the porch look more afraid than the flashing lights had.
August Whitacre stepped out under the soft rain with no umbrella, silver hair damp at the temples, a dark overcoat buttoned to his throat. Two attorneys followed him, along with a private security director carrying a locked case.
Marion descended one step and stopped.
'August,' she said. 'This is a family tragedy.'
He looked past her to his daughter being lifted onto a stretcher.
'No,' he said. 'This is a crime scene on property I still own.'
Dorian's mouth opened, then closed.
Nora heard her father's voice and, for one dangerous second, almost allowed herself to cry. She did not. Dorian had already taken enough images from her.
August approached the stretcher and took her hand only after the medic allowed it.
'I am here,' he said. 'Now we proceed carefully.'