Chapter 6 –Subtle Probes
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Smith pushed open the door to his 5th-floor apartment just before midnight. The familiar quiet wrapped around him like a blanket that had grown too tight. The open living area was dark except for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the large windows. The desk in the dim corner still held the printer from this morning, now silent. He locked the door, slid the chain into place, and stood there for a long moment, listening. Nothing except for a buzz in his phone. No footsteps in the hallway.
He crossed to the windows and stared down at the streets. Matatus had thinned out, but the occasional headlight still swept across the buildings. He rubbed his eyes. He had tossed the burner phone under the bench as instructed. He had walked home the long way, doubling back twice to make sure no one followed. And he still felt watched.
He stripped off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and dropped onto the couch without bothering to change. His phone lay on the table beside him. For a moment, he hesitated, then unlocked it.
A small headline had begun circulating.
Unnamed sources suggest irregularities in upcoming investment allocations. Anonymous whistleblower hints at deeper corruption.
He wondered if it was the caller forcing him to comply indirectly, planting the seed that the dominoes would fall if he refused to do as told.
He laid back against the couch, letting the glow of the phone fade into the dark. Sleep came slowly; it was fragmented. Every time his eyes closed, the caller's words resurfaced. No choice has ever been yours until today. He saw the document in his hands again, the pen moving across the page, the rush of defiance. Then the image shifted—Hawthorne taking the envelope, Marcus slipping it into his backpack, the unknown caller's calm voice promising consequences. In his dream, the dominoes began to tumble, each one larger than the last, until the final piece crushed him beneath its weight.
He woke up with a start just before dawn, heart racing, jacket twisted around his legs. Sweat cooled on his skin. The apartment was still dark. He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Freedom had felt so real yesterday morning. Now it felt like borrowed clothes that no longer fit.
At exactly 7:00 a.m., a soft knock sounded at the door.
Smith sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and crossed the room. He opened the door to find Hawthorne standing in the hallway, tall and composed, black and purple Victorian-style suit immaculate, cane resting lightly in his gloved hand.
"Good morning, Master Smith," Hawthorne said with a small, respectful nod. "I am here as requested. The car is downstairs whenever you are ready."
Smith studied him for a moment. The man's face showed nothing but calm professionalism. No flicker of guilt. No hint that he had ever swapped documents or taken detours.
"Come in," Smith said, stepping aside. "I need a minute."
Hawthorne entered without hesitation, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He remained standing near the entrance, hands folded over the cane, gaze politely averted from the open living area.
Smith moved to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water, looking at Hawthorne from time to time. He kept his voice casual. "You delivered the envelope straight to my sister yesterday, right?"
"Yes, sir," Hawthorne replied smoothly. "I took it directly to the family residence as instructed. Ms. Alexandria received it in person."
Smith took a slow sip, watching the man's reflection in the window. "No stops along the way? Traffic can be bad in the mid-mornings."
Hawthorne's expression remained unchanged, a faint polite smile touching his lips. "The route was clear, sir. I made excellent time. Would you like me to prepare coffee before we leave?"
The deflection was effortless. No hesitation, no defensive tone, no telltale glance away. Hawthorne simply stood there, the perfect picture of a loyal new driver.
Smith set the glass down. "Just curious. My sister mentioned the documents arrived later than expected. I wondered if you had taken a different route."
Hawthorne's left hand twitched slightly. He inclined his head. "All standard procedure, sir. I had to make sure no one was tailing me and knew of the document. Is there anything else you require this morning? Your schedule shows a morning lecture at the university, followed by—"
"No, that's fine," Smith cut in. He forced a small smile. "Just making sure everything went smoothly. You're new, after all."
"Understood, sir. I aim to make the transition seamless." Hawthorne's tone was warm, helpful, utterly free of guilt. "Shall I wait in the car?"
Smith nodded. "Give me fifteen minutes."
Hawthorne bowed his head once more and stepped out, closing the door with the same quiet efficiency. Smith remained in the kitchen, staring at the empty hallway. The man had answered every question without answering anything at all. No slip he took note of. Just the same calm competence he had shown at the café.
Smith dressed quickly after a 10-minute shower, grabbed his bag, and locked the apartment. In the elevator descending to the ground floor, he caught his own reflection in the mirrored wall. Tired eyes. Tense jaw. The same face that had signed the document yesterday morning with such reckless pride.
Hawthorne stood beside the black sedan, holding the rear door open. "Good morning again, sir."
Smith slid into the back seat. The leather was cool against his palms. As Hawthorne closed the door and moved to the driver's side, Smith's mind turned over the same question again and again. If Hawthorne had swapped the document, why show no fear at all?
The engine purred to life. Hawthorne adjusted the rear-view mirror, meeting Smith's eyes for a brief, neutral moment.
"University first, sir?"
"Yes," Smith said.
"Okay, sir. Ms. Alexandria asked me to remind you of the monthly family meeting. I hope you remember it, sir," Hawthorne replied while reminding Smith of the meeting.
"I never forget important things," said Smith. "And Hawthorne?"
"Sir?"
"Next time you deliver anything related to my family, inform me of the detours. And come straight back here afterward."
Hawthorne's smile was small and perfectly polite. "Of course, Master Smith. As you wish."
The car pulled smoothly into the morning traffic. Smith leaned back against the seat, watching the city slide past the tinted windows.