<div style="text-align: justify;">New York, 1922<br/>April 15th<br/>3:00 a.m.<br/><br/>The room was almost silent. Only the shallow breathing could be heard. It sounded like someone had just run miles before entering the room. But there had been no running. Only a heated argument... and a snap decision.<br/><br/>And now, Mr. Angus Sinclair lay on the floor, a pool of blood forming under his head. A bronze paper weight was on the floor, next to him. And a woman stood over the man. Her face was ashen white, and she looked like she was about to faint - or get sick. She did neither, though. Taking a deep breath and straightening her back, the woman started moving.<br/><br/>She had killed a man. Worse - she had killed her husband. She needed to cover it up, and fast. Police would have to be called, and all kinds of assumptions would be made. Nobody knew the secret monster Angus was.<br/><br/>Mrs. Sinclair acted quickly. She cleaned the paper weight to make it look like someone had wore gloves. Then, started ransacking the study. The safe was opened, and some of the contents, dropped on the floor. After making sure she had a crime scene, and breaking the windows from the outside, she finally did what she should and reported the crime to the police. <br/><br/>Being shaken as she was, it wasn't hard to pass the image of a distraught wife over the tragedy. Telling her story to the police, the young woman waited for them to leave and called her doctor. It was for the best that she should play her part down to the end. She would need a good night's sleep before taking the next step, anyway. There had to be a next step. It couldn't be an unsolved crime. Otherwise they could eventually get to the truth. No, never. Someone had to be blamed for it. Only then could she sleep in peace for the rest of her days.</div>