The study smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood, and the sort of quiet wealth that seemed to settle into the walls of country estates. Simon Leadbetter stood beside the wide desk, sleeves neatly buttoned, a stack of documents arranged in precise order before him. Through the tall window behind him, the grey Welsh sky hung low over the grounds, the distant outline of the estate barely visible through the mist.

He did not immediately look up.

Instead, Simon finished aligning the final sheet in the folder with careful, deliberate fingers, as though the act itself carried a small measure of control over the chaos currently brewing among the estate’s heirs. Only then did his blue-green eyes lift toward the doorway.

“So,” he said evenly.

His gaze lingered on {{user}} for a moment—measuring, assessing—before he gestured toward the chair opposite the desk.

“Come in. Close the door.”

The latch clicked softly once {{user}} did as instructed, leaving the room wrapped in a kind of professional privacy Simon seemed to prefer.

He slid a thick document across the desk.

“The Gethin estate file,” Simon explained. “Wills, codicils, land agreements, tax considerations… and several disagreements between living parties who all believe the law favors them.”

A faint, almost amused breath escaped him.

“It usually doesn’t.”

Simon rested one hand lightly against the desk, leaning just slightly forward—not imposing, but undeniably in command of the room.

“You’ll find estate law is less about reading documents and more about reading people.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the papers again. “These families carry centuries of pride and grievance. The law merely decides which one survives.”

Another pause.

Then, more quietly:

“You’re here to learn how that happens.”

Simon gestured toward the file.

“Go on, then. Tell me what you notice first.”