Mary turned, closed the door, and did it cleanly—no hesitation, no wasted movement.
The brass doorknob was cold beneath her palm, but it couldn't cool the faint heat building there from excitement.
She forced her steps to remain steady and proper, but urgency still leaked through.
Passing down a brightly lit corridor, Mary stopped before a closed mahogany door.
Her father's study.
She drew a breath, lifted her hand, and knocked lightly.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three knocks—no more, no less, each perfectly measured.
"Who is it?" a man's voice called from inside.
"It's me, Father." Mary answered. "There's something I need to show you."
"What is it?"
"You'll see."
A pause followed.
Behind the desk, the Duke of Morstan frowned. This was the first time Mary had spoken to him with a deliberate tease.
In the past, she answered directly. She didn't dodge.
It made him curious.
"Come in."
With permission granted, Mary pressed the handle down and entered, closing the door behind her.
She approached the desk and placed the stack of documents gently onto the surface.
"What is this?" the duke asked, already looking down.
Then his pupils tightened sharply. He froze—then abruptly leaned forward and snatched the papers up.
"This…"
"These are the Morstan family's commercial agreements with the Roys, along with some bonds and securities," Mary said softly.
"You forged—"
"They're real," Mary cut him off. "Originals."
"Originals?"
The duke glanced at Mary, then returned his gaze to the documents, doubt and disbelief warring in his eyes.
But yes—originals.
The seals, the familiar handwritten signatures—everything checked out.
Which meant one question immediately followed:
Why were they here?
Weren't they supposed to be safely stored in Lloyds Bank's underground vault?
"Where did you get these?"
After confirming authenticity, the duke forced down his shock and looked straight at Mary.
"If these are real, do you understand what this means, Mary?"
"Moriarty delivered them," Mary said, not hiding anything.
"Moriarty?" The duke frowned. "That thief?"
"Yes." Mary nodded once. "He appeared outside my window, left these, and disappeared."
"Why would he do that?" The duke's brow furrowed deeper.
"Maintaining his persona, I suppose," Mary replied.
"That thief's favorite hobby is stealing valuables—then returning them without a trace."
That explanation seemed to ease the duke's expression slightly.
And before he could speak, Mary continued:
"If these are real, then it means Lloyds Bank lied to us."
The man blinked—then realized she was answering his earlier question.
Under her father's gaze, Mary remained calm and poised, her voice even:
"After last night's raid, these documents were likely stolen.
But Lloyds probably assumed Moriarty would return what he took. So they chose to lie—and they demanded that The Times stay silent.
In exchange, The Times gets first-hand materials.
And Lloyds avoids a massive loss—by that, I mean expenses beyond compensation for injuries and vault repairs."
She didn't spell it out. She didn't need to.
She looked at her father and stopped.
The duke understood instantly.
"Compensation for stolen property… and the follow-up 'customer care' plan."
His voice sank, low and thunderous, like pressure building under a storm front.
In his eyes, the anxiety and irritation from the broken cash flow was being replaced by something else:
Excitement at the scent of profit.
And anger at deception.
"Lloyds has a lot of nerve," the duke snorted. "Lying to their biggest client."
He paused, then looked up at Mary.
"My daughter—how do you think I should make them feel the wrath of House Morstan?"
"There's a way," Mary said. "It'll be troublesome, and it may take time, but the effect will be… significant."
Her tone stayed smooth and level.
"There's no sacrifice too great to reject—no betrayal too small to forgive."
The duke caught the implication.
"Say what you mean."
"I understand, Father." Mary nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting.
She didn't like this man.
But she had to admit it—viewed strictly as a partner, he was an excellent businessman.
He heard the subtext. He made choices.
"No hesitation."
"First," Mary said into the quiet study, "our target isn't just one."
She crossed to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a glass of water, and refilled the duke's empty whiskey with amber liquid.
"Oh?" He took the whiskey and leaned back, watching her with interest.
"Lloyds Bank is only one—and it's the easiest one."
Mary set the water down with a soft clink, like a gavel sealing her point.
"There's another target: The Times."
"The paper?" The duke's brow ticked up slightly. "They're just the bank's mouthpiece. Not important."
"On the contrary." Mary shook her head.
"They're the key.
They're the lever we use to pry the bank open—and an extra stream of profit.
Father, consider this: what is Lloyds Bank's greatest asset?"
"Reputation," the duke answered without thinking.
"Exactly—reputation." Mary nodded.
"Then what is that reputation worth, if they're willing to lie to their biggest client to avoid paying compensation—and collude with the press to hide the truth?"
The duke didn't answer, but his gaze sharpened.
"If we confront Lloyds directly, the best outcome is recovering what we're owed—plus a hush fee.
But that isn't enough." Mary stepped closer, bracing her hands on the desk as she leaned forward, eyes locked on his.
"It won't come close to filling the hole Mycroft created."
"We don't need their compensation," Mary said, each word deliberate.
"We need their fear."
"Fear will make them offer far more than money.
A long-term loan contract with interest rates so low every competitor will turn green with envy.
Or sweeping support for our future investments."
The duke's cigar froze mid-air. Ash fell in a soft spill.
He stared at his daughter as if meeting her for the first time.
"And The Times," Mary straightened and drifted to the window, "is the weapon we use to create that fear.
Fleet Street has more than one newspaper.
The Times' rival—The Guardian—would be thrilled to pay a great deal for an exclusive scandal big enough to ruin a competitor."
"You want to eat from both sides?" the duke finally said, fully grasping her intent.
"Why not?" Mary turned back, wearing a harmless smile—eerily similar to Russell's expression in the newsroom.
"Lloyds Bank and The Times colluded to deceive the public. That's fact.
We, as victims, disclose the truth to a righteous outlet—and charge an information consulting fee. Entirely reasonable.
And for that…" Mary's smile deepened.
"The Guardian should be thanking us."
....
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