It looked like an ordinary letter. But I immediately noticed two very ludicrous things. One, it was from the Probate Court of Eastor County. Secondly, it was addressed to me. I thought this was strange because that would mean I was the beneficiary of a will and no one I knew had died recently. Within was two letters. One, the standard court summons, and the second, a letter from Lady Eastor! She was a rich island billionaire, owner of Eastor Island, the largest tourist trap the town of Eastorville has. It was written with a shaky hand and said, “If I am found dead, it was not Father Time. It was murder by forces of Satan!” Within the envelope, was $80,000 dollars!

First, I believe, some introductions are in order. I am Isaac Holt, a precocious child genius. I run a detective firm, The Newton Group. Along with me is Sherlock H. Hobart, a genius when it comes to forensics and deductions, but unfortunately, has Asperser’s Syndrome, and doesn’t talk much. Finally, we have Pierce, an athletic kid always in over his head. However, what we recently learned is that he has a rare disease that, in fact hides, inner genius, but allows him physical ability. This makes up the Newton Group.

Over the years, we’ve made some interesting acquaintances, a rich eccentric that we did a job for once, now lends us a Rolls Royce. The Chief of Police, who takes all the credit for jobs we do for him.  We’ve met the U.S. General, who has us take on cases sometimes. We’ve even met the President! We saved him from an imposter once. Some of the less important people we’ve met are the Queen of England, the PM of Japan, and Sam Seeall, the tycoon who made it rich selling fortune telling equipment.

I went to court, and all Lady Eastor left me was the envelope and a key. It was a plain, bronze key. It was inscribed, “Elevator”. Bummed about the key and happy about the eighty grand, I took thirty grand, ten for each of our college accounts, and got on the line with Sam. We talked back and forth, and he said he knew someone who would upgrade our hideout to an underground building for fifty grand. As I got off the phone, it rang again. The Chief of Police called to hire me for a case. He said that Lady Eastor had been murdered, and they wanted me to solve the case. He said that he would give us a police level forensics lab in exchange. I hung up, having agreed to do the case, and the phone rang again. As I picked up the phone, whoever was on it, hung up! “What audaci… audaci…” I was unable to finish, because as I turned around, I saw the message, “Lady Eastor’s breath of death shall touch one, for every hour, forever more,” sprawled in blood on the wall.