Mary glanced back and, without the slightest hesitation, closed the door behind her in one smooth motion. The brass doorknob was cold beneath her fingers, but even that couldn't douse the smoldering excitement in the young girl's heart.
She steadied her steps, striving to maintain her dignity, but a touch of anxiety was clear on her face. Walking through the brightly lit corridor, Mary paused in front of a sturdy, tightly shut mahogany door.
Behind this door was the Duke of Morstan's study.
Taking a deep breath, Mary reached out and knocked gently.
Don, don, don…
Three well-timed knocks—not too hard, not too soft.
"Who is it?"
A man's voice called out from inside.
"It's me, Father," Mary began, "there's something I wish to show you."
"What is it?"
"You'll understand when you see it."
At that, silence fell for a moment inside the study. The Duke of Morstan frowned behind his desk. It was the first time his daughter had ever spoken to him in so cryptic a manner. In the past, she'd always answered every question without hesitation or diversion.
His curiosity was piqued.
"Come in."
Upon receiving permission, Mary pressed the doorknob and pushed the door open, then casually closed it behind her before walking to the desk and lightly placing the items she carried on the table.
"What's this?"
As he spoke, the Duke barely glanced at the pile of papers on his desk—until his pupils suddenly contracted. Stunned for a split second, he leaned forward and seized the documents with both hands.
"This is—?"
"These are the business cooperation documents previously signed between the Morstan family and the Roy family, along with several bonds and securities," Mary said quietly.
"Where did you get these copies?"
"They aren't copies, Father," she interrupted him, "they're all real. Originals."
"Originals?"
The Duke shot her a sharp glance, then stared at the documents in disbelief.
"Yes. Originals"—she emphasized—"whether you examine the seals or the familiar handwritten signatures."
"Why are these in our possession? Shouldn't they be resting safely inside the underground vault of Lloyds Bank? How did you acquire them?"
After confirming their authenticity, the Duke looked up at Mary, barely containing his shock.
"If these are real—do you understand what that implies, Mary?"
"They were sent by Moriarty," Mary admitted plainly.
"Moriarty?"
The Duke frowned. "You mean the thief?"
Mary nodded slightly. "He appeared outside the window, left these, and vanished."
"But why would he do such a thing?"
"Likely to maintain a certain image in society," Mary explained. "Isn't the thing a thief enjoys most stealing jewels only to quietly return them to their owners?"
Hearing this, a bit of tension left the Duke's brow. Before he could reply, Mary continued:
"If these documents are genuine, then Lloyds Bank must have lied to us. Last night, it seems, these were stolen in the bank robbery. But Lloyds expected Moriarty to return the stolen items, so they lied and asked The Times to remain silent about the matter. As a result, the newspaper will only report information provided by Lloyds, and the bank itself avoids huge losses—except for pension and maintenance fees."
She didn't spell it out, only hinted at it briefly before looking at her father. The Duke immediately grasped her meaning.
"Compensation for stolen property and subsequent reimbursement schemes," he rumbled, voice low like thunder preceding a storm. In those deep-set eyes, the unease and restlessness caused by broken financial chains was already giving way to something else: the thrill of profit hard-won, and the fury of betrayal.
Yet the Duke paid Mary's subtlety no mind, nor was he surprised by her Machiavellian mindset—such cunning was exactly what he had trained her for. For the family's benefit, above all.
"Lloyds is truly audacious," the Duke sneered. "To think they'd deceive even their largest clients."
Pausing, he fixed Mary with a searching look.
"My daughter, how do you propose we let Lloyds taste the wrath of House Morstan?"
"There is of course a solution," Mary replied evenly, "though it may be a little troublesome and time-consuming. But I guarantee—it will be very effective."
She went on, "No sacrifice is too great to protect our interests; no betrayal is too small to be overlooked."
The Duke understood immediately.
"Go on."
"Yes, Father." Mary nodded, a faint smile on her lips.
She didn't like this man.
But from a practical standpoint, she had to admit he was a superb businessman—quick to grasp hints and capable of making informed decisions.
"First of all," Mary's voice echoed through the quiet study, "we don't have just one target here."
She went to the wine cabinet, poured herself a glass of water, and topped off her father's empty whisky glass with amber liquid.
"Oh?"
The Duke picked up his glass, reclined in his chair, and smiled, clearly intrigued.
"Lloyds is just one target—the easiest target."
Mary set down her glass with a soft tonk, as though marking the end of her speech. "But our other target is The Times."
"The newspaper?"
The Duke raised his brows. "A mere mouthpiece for the bank. They're insignificant."
"On the contrary." Mary shook her head. "They're our most crucial link. The means to manipulate the bank, and a new stream of income. Think, Father: what is Lloyds Bank's greatest asset?"
"Their reputation," he answered instantly.
"Right. Their reputation." Mary nodded. "So what is the reputation of a bank that lies to its largest client, conspires with the media, and covers up the truth to avoid compensation?"
The Duke said nothing, but his gaze grew sharper.
"If we confront the bank now," Mary reasoned, "the best we can hope for is compensation according to the contract, along with some hush money. But that wouldn't be enough—not nearly enough to cover the hole Mycroft created."
She leaned against the edge of the desk, blue eyes boring into her father's.
"What we need is not their compensation, but their fear."
She spoke every word with clarity.
"Fear will force them to pay much more than money ever would. For example—brand-new long-term loans at rates their rivals would envy. Or support for all our family's future investment projects."
The Duke nearly dropped his cigar, scattering ash everywhere. He stared at Mary as if seeing her for the first time.
"And The Times will be our weapon to create that fear," Mary continued, straightening up and moving toward the window. "Fleet Street has many newspapers, Father. I imagine The Guardian, The Times' biggest competitor, would pay handsomely for an exclusive scandal to attack their rival."
"You want to have your cake and eat it too?"
For the first time, the Duke truly grasped her intent.
"Why not?" Mary turned, her face adorned with the same innocent and guileless smile she'd shown to Russell earlier. "It's a fact—The Times conspired with Lloyds Bank to deceive the public. We're only upholding justice by telling the truth to other media as victims—and collecting a consultation fee for the trouble."
"In this, I believe The Guardian should be grateful to us."
…