The job was simple enough: Catalog a private library, one week, very generous pay. The client: deceased. The estate: isolated. The instructions: minimal. There was a key, a non-disclosure agreement, and a short note from the estate lawyer that read, “Do not attempt to contact surviving family. Do not move any books from the premises. Do not read the black volumes in the north alcove.” You read that last part twice. Then, of course, you said yes. There’s always something strange about inherited wealth. Strange people, strange contracts. But you needed the money, and there are worse things than a paid week alone in a big old house full of dusty books. At least, that’s what you thought.