The air inside the newly acquired estate was thick with the suffocating scent of fresh plaster, sawdust, and industrial primer. Zane stood on the sweeping, mezzanine landing of the large foyer, tracking the chaotic symphony of structural transformation.
The noise was constant—the rhythmic, deafening whine of a circular saw cutting through premium oak flooring downstairs, the sharp, echoing cracks of pneumatic nail guns reinforcing the newly framed partitions in the west wing, and the low, heavy thud of pillars being unbolted.
The mansion itself was a marvel of sharp, modern geometries—a sprawling concrete-and-steel monolith shaped like interlocking, asymmetrical chevrons designed to maximize panoramic views of the valley. But Zane was ruthlessly gutting the past.
