Chapter 14 – The Quite Preparation
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Smith left the park quietly, avoiding any lingering around the monument. He walked a short distance before hailing a tuktuk, the driver nodding when he gave the address. The vehicle wove through the afternoon traffic, the wind whipping against his face.
The city noise faded as he stared out the window, the blur of matatus and pedestrians passing like a distant dream.
The game has shifted again.
Reaction matters more than proof.
He should learn to control his body language.
Sometimes the smallest disturbance forces truth out.
He repeated these phrases like a quiet mantra in his thoughts. No grand plan yet, just the beginning of one. The caller wanted control. Smith would give him the illusion of it.
The tuktuk dropped him at Ladin Apartments. He paid the driver and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, each step heavier than the last. He was dead tired, but he didn't feel like using the elevator. The corridor lights flickered faintly as he passed. When he reached his door, he paused for a second before unlocking it, listening to the silence inside welcome him.
The door clicked shut behind him. He locked it, then checked his phone… no new messages.
Fatigue crashed over him like a wave. He loosened his shoes, dropped his bag beside the couch, and lay down, intending to rest for a few hours. His eyes closed almost immediately.
Even his sleep was filled with thoughts. Fragments drifted through his mind… the photo of his father shaking hands with the arrested corrupt figures. The image blurred, then faded.
Sunlight shifted slowly across the room. After noon gold dimming into evening grey. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, indifferent to tension. When Smith finally opened his eyes, the room felt unfamiliar for a moment.
5:00 p.m.
He sat up slowly. Stretched his limbs for a moment. The exhaustion remained, but not as heavy as the one he had this morning.
He picked up his phone and dialed Hawthorne. The line connected after two rings.
"Master Smith," Hawthorne answered, his voice calm and professional.
"Bring the car," Smith said evenly. "I need to return to the manor this evening."
"Very well, sir. I will be there in fifteen minutes."
Smith ended the call and stared at his reflection in the dark screen. The dark circles under his eyes had reduced, but he still looked like shit.
He decided to take a quick shower before Hawthorne arrived; it could at least make him less tired and sluggish.
He stood and went to the bathroom.
After ten minutes he came out, fresher than before. A quick dress-up and he exited.
Hawthorne arrived exactly on time.
Smith slid into the back seat. The leather was cool against his palms.
"Manor, sir?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes."
The drive was quiet. Ordinary conversation passed between them… light traffic complaints, a passing mention of evening weather. Nothing important.
Smith learned he should observe more than he spoke; the chances of making a mistake would be slightly reduced. Cars passed as they drove by. Streetlights flickered alive one by one.
'Information changes behaviour. Or does behaviour change information?' he thought. 'Better they notice something small now than something larger later.'
He wasn't trying to accuse anyone. He only needed to create movement, and questions would surface. Still waters reveal nothing. Disturb them, and patterns surface.
The car rolled through the iron gates of Wesson Manor as the sun dipped low. The estate rose three storeys behind manicured lawns and tall security walls, stone columns flanking the entrance. Lights were already glowing in the windows. Life inside, unaware of the storm coming, or pretending to be.
Hawthorne stopped the car and stepped out to open the rear door.
"Thank you," Smith said as he exited.
"Of course, sir."
The entrance hall was warm and softly lit. Polished floors reflected the chandelier above. Staff moved quietly through corridors, their usual routines continued.
Smith walked a few steps inside, then slowed.
He checked around to ensure no one was watching, then took the envelope from his pocket. He had already cleaned it to remove any traces of him. He let his grip loosen slightly… it slipped.
The envelope landed near the side table where family mail and notices were usually sorted. A place no one ignored for a day.
If someone saw it after he left, good. If they found it later, even better.
He hesitated, as if reconsidering his decision before making up his mind.
He straightened and continued walking deeper into the manor, footsteps steady.
It wasn't deception, he told himself. It was pressure. If the family was pressured, they would be more alert.
Since the caller had made their presence known, Smith felt slightly in control.