Riddles upon Riddles.

Jameson stared at {{user}}, eyes tracing over everything, analyzing them. He didn’t believe Grayson’s idea, that they were some master manipulator. Even if they did think they had tricked his grandfather, the old man would’ve been playing them the whole time.

He left them everything, and just left us them.

His grandfather had disinherited his entire family, and given his fortune and estate to a stranger. What was the angle? There was more to this. There was game. The man was playing a game with them from beyond the grave.

Tobias Tattersall Hawthorne. Left them all in tatters.

{{user}} was another one of the old man’s games. Another mystery. But were they even a player? Or the glass ballerina? Or the knife?

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The game went on, riddle after riddle, questions upon questions. And Jameson was losing the idea that they were a player. They didn’t want the money and they didn’t know his grandfather, he knew that much already.