2:37 A.M., Saturday, 13th October

Francis Helmsburg was sitting comfortably in his study on his expensive leather chair that he had just recently acquired in his mansion, located on a small island off the coast of British Columbia. The fireplace behind him crackled and popped, projecting a bright orange glow. He was finalizing a crucial invitation letter that, along with 102 other letters, was destined to someone he only knew by name. To most, this person was known as the world’s best bartender. Francis was a bit of a collector - the many pictures of him with famous people lining his desk would be proof of that. Currently illuminated by the desk lamp, Francis’ face had small beads of sweat on it. He tended to get very passionate about his writing, especially when he was writing to someone of their caliber. His plan was this - to throw the most glamorous party in his huge manor, where only the best in their field were invited. Francis wasn't picky about what it was - whether the person be world-renowned or simply a local hero did not matter to him. The important thing was that they had a talent, no matter how insignificant it may have seemed. To Francis, the ultimate goal in life was to be the best - no matter at what that may be. To surround himself with the people who have done so and to be one of them… That was Francis’ dream. He took a sip of coffee, placing the mug back down after he'd done so. After having finalized the letter, he placed it in a yellowed envelope, taking care to properly seal it. Then, he melted some red-colored wax onto the envelope and waited for it to cool. As he did so, he took out another sheet of paper. He pulled out a book from the bookshelf behind his desk, and searched for the next person that was to be invited. Having found them, he began writing the 104th and penultimate letter, this one being destined to the person known as the world’s best boxer. He began his letter in the same fashion he had begun all the previous letters. Dear Sir/Madam, he wrote, you are cordially invited to a formal party, courtesy of the world’s best investor, Sir Francis Helmsburg. Although Francis was not a knight and the title of ‘Sir’ was not official, he considered himself as such. Ironically enough, he had taken the time to write to the world’s best knight just a few letters prior. Taking his time to carefully write every single letter, Francis felt his eyes droop in fatigue. It was now the early hours of the morning, and Francis had been at this since early afternoon. Nevertheless, he pressed on. You are to wear a formal attire, but there is no specific dress code. Feel free to wear whatever suits you. Francis then checked the wax on the previous letter. Feeling it was sufficiently cooled, he took the stamp with his family crest on it - a griffon with a rose twisted around it. He stamped it onto the wax. It sunk into the seal a few millimeters. Francis held it there for a few seconds before pulling away the stamp. He admired his handiwork - the crest was perfectly printed onto the wax. He knew it was old-fashioned, and yet Francis felt like this further proved his nobility. It was something he enjoyed doing. He turned the letter around and wrote the address he had found and believed it to be the correct address. Satisfied that the seal would hold until it reached its destination, he placed the letter onto the pile of other letters. He then went back to writing his letter. Hoping to see you there in all your glory, Sir Francis Helmsburg. He then placed this letter in an envelope and poured wax on it once again. Tired but proud, Francis set to writing the final letter.

1:56 P.M, Thursday, 8th November

Staring into the once-vibrant and colorful office of his boss, Jason Harlon felt the familiar ache in his heart. The office had belonged to the late Ariana Beverly, considered the world’s best private investigator. Before, the desk had been full of color and light. The curtains were almost always open, and Jason couldn't recall a day when Ariana wasn't smiling, sun shining in her chestnut hair and life in her brown eyes. Now, that life was gone. A few days ago, Jason received a dire piece of news - Ariana Beverly was dead. While the circumstances surrounding her death were mysterious, one thing was certain - she was murdered. And she was only the latest in a line of serial killings. Several prominent and talented people had gone missing or were found dead lately. There seemed to be no pattern, aside from the killer’s methods - it was always a camo combat knife through the heart. The killer’s continued evasion from the police investigating the case made them the cause of much rumors around town. Some tried to predict who they were, others tried to predict where they would strike next. Jason was disgusted by all of them. He had loved Ariana very dearly, but had never gotten the chance to tell her. As if fate herself was intervening, the day he had finally worked up the courage was the day Ariana was found dead in her home.

Jason, being second in charge in the investigations, was naturally supposed to continue Ariana’s work. However, he could not bring himself to touch anything in Ariana’s office, so the pile of requests lay there, undisturbed. Today though, the other detectives in the agency had pressured him to at least look at the cases. Jason took a deep breath and took his first step inside the office since Ariana had died. It was the same as before - full of color and light. It even smelled like Ariana’s signature perfume. But to Jason, it seemed duller and lifeless. The bright pictures on the wall and overall colorful furniture did nothing to uplift his spirits. He glanced at the pile of letters on Ariana’s desk. Among them, one in particular stood out - a yellowed envelope, sealed by wax. Intrigued, Jason took a closer look. This one jutted out of the pile, as if Ariana had wanted to take it but was distracted and ultimately never looked at it. Jason took it and read the back. It was addressed to Ariana herself. Jason could not help but think that this was odd, since most requests were directed to the agency. If someone had wanted to send Ariana mail, they would have sent it to her own home, not here. The letter had piqued Jason’s curiosity, and he decided to read it. He found a letter opener in a drawer in Ariana’s desk. Before he sliced the letter opened, he looked at the seal - a griffon surrounded by a flower. Cutting the envelope open, he skimmed the letter. The writing was impeccable, not one blotch of ink to be seen. It had clearly been written by quill or by a fountain pen. Carefully, he began reading the letter. It said:

Dear Sir/Madam,

You are cordially invited to a formal party, courtesy of the world’s best investor, Sir Francis Helmsburg. The party will be held at his own manor on the 10th of November. You are to wear a formal attire, but there is no specific dress code. Feel free to wear whatever suits you. Be aware that all the guests at this event are high-class citizens such as yourself - you, along with them, have been invited to this party for your talent in a specific field. It is with hopeful anticipation that I wish to see the world’s best detective at the party. Your skill in cracking the toughest of cases has earned you every right to visit my sumptuous mansion on the evening of the 10th of November. It would grant me an immense honor to count you amongst my guests.

Hoping to see you there in all your glory,

Sir Francis Helmsburg

Jason read the letter once more. No matter how he analysed it, Jason could not make sense of it. The introduction itself struck him as odd - the author of the letter clearly knew Ariana’s name, so shouldn't they know her gender as well? Why bother with Sir/Madam? From what Jason could gather, the author of the letter was an eccentric, with a passion for talent. However, this brought something to Jason’s mind - Ariana’s death. The killer’s target were all regarded as the best in their field. This Sir Francis Helmsburg was clearly interested in talent. Could these be coincidences? The probability was slim. Convinced that the two were connected, Jason decided to go to the party. Hopefully he would be able to find something connected to Ariana’s death.