The deed was done.

Silence reigned throughout the room. The desperate gasps and crashes of only moments previous were gone, and an uneasy stillness remained.

The blonde woman and the bespectacled man stared down at their work with a mixture of awe, satisfaction, and slight anxiety on their faces. It had taken months of planning, hours of set-up, and an incredible amount of deceit, but the hardest part was complete.

It was difficult to believe.

All that was left was the clean up. It was vital to leave the room exactly as it had been before the pair had entered it; the blonde woman straightened paintings that had been crooked and chairs that had been overturned in the scuffle, while the bespectacled man wiped the handles of the cups he and his companion had used not minutes before.

When all was finished, the pair surveyed the room one last time, looking for any hint as to what had occurred. Finding none, they engaged in a swift yet passionate kiss, and left.

Silenced filled the room once more. It was an extravagant room, filled with quiet luxuries, and yet gave off a feeling of meticulous precision: a place for everything, and everything in its place. The only thing that seemed out of place was the elderly man lying on the floor, eyes open and staring. Dead.

--

Three weeks later a funeral service was held for Arthur Berkley. He had been found strangled in his study by one of his cleaning staff; as police had found little to no evidence, his death had been marked down as 'murder by person or persons unknown'. The investigation was ongoing.

The mourners in black at his funeral numbered many; the old man had been a respected member of high society. He also left a great many friends and family behind, including two grown children: a daughter and a son. They didn't socialize much, and mostly stuck to the sidelines. The daughter's fingers twined in and out of her long blonde hair, and the light glinted maliciously off of the son's spectacles.