Liam sat nursing his fourth, maybe fifth, whisky glass, he had lost count, and honestly couldn’t care less. The great hall was sunk in darkness so he cannot see the judging eyes of the paintings staring at him. All his ancestors, his fore-bearers, all the people that had put their blood and sweat, into building and maintaining the family wealth, that had invested their hopes and dreams into a future he now had burned to a crisp.