Chapter 18 – The Notebook
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Is the novel satisfactory till here, or not. State your case. Comment your likes and dislikes too, about the novel. How is the plot going?
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The morning light came through the tall windows of Wesson Manor, lighting up the grand staircase as Smith went down. Each step made a small echo in the hall below. He stopped at the landing, his hand resting on the polished banister. The air smelled of fresh tea and toasted bread, mixed with the scent of polished wood and jasmine scented cleaning agent. These were normal things, but they seemed far away now.
He made his way to the breakfast room, where the family was already waiting. Theodore sat at the head of the long oak table, reading newspaper with his usual calm focus. Elizabeth was at the sideboard, pouring tea into cups. Alexandria was next to her, setting fruit on a platter, looking composed and alert as always. Isabel sat at the other end, stirring her tea with a spoon, the clink breaking the quiet.
"Morning," Smith said, sitting down. The chair scraping a little on the floor.
"Good morning, dear," Elizabeth said, her voice warm. She passed him a cup of tea, with steam rising from it. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough," he said, taking a sip. The tea was hot, but it didn't help the chill he felt inside. Theodore looked up for a second, his gaze steady. Alexandria smiled slightly and handed him some bread. Isabel just raised an eyebrow.
They ate with small bites and short talks… about the day's plans, the city traffic, nothing important. But there was a tension underneath, from last night's find. No one brought up the photograph, but it was there, making every silence feel heavier than it should.
Smith spread butter on his bread, the knife scraping quietly, but his mind was elsewhere. The notebook. How had it been touched? He had left it in the drawer last night, placed exactly in the center, with the pen beside it… a habit of his since young. But this morning, before coming down, he checked and saw it was off by a little. Someone had touched it. And inside was the photograph… his father shaking hands with those figures who got arrested, a red circle around Theodore's face in ink.
The image came back to him now, clear and unwanted, as he chewed without tasting. The photograph was on purpose, like a show of influence. And the note: "They already know." Who put it there? The caller, or someone close? Marcus came to mind… his friend, but also Uncle Jack's son, whose family wanted a piece of theirs. His mother, Elizabeth, came to mind, Uncle Jack's sister. Even the wedding was done to expand business. "Could she have done it? She has keys to almost every room," Smith wondered. And the caller, giving orders and trying to sabotage the family. Were they linked to Uncle Jack? Or Jack's competition, the caller's push for records that showed lies. "Who will benefit most if the family fell?" Parts that didn't connect yet, but were getting closer.
He put his cup down carefully, so his hand wouldn't shake. The tea had cooled, its heat gone, like the thin freedom he enjoyed the other morning.
As the breakfast ended, Smith stood up with a quick nod to the family, saying he had university work. The goodbyes were short. He walked to the hall, where Hawthorne was waiting with the sedan, the engine already running. Smith got in the back, feeling the leather seat against him, cool and firm, as the manor faded in the mirror. The drive was silent, with the city coming to life outside the windows… streets busy with vendors, matatus moving through traffic, the skyline clear against the morning sky. But his thoughts stayed on the notebook, and the red circle photo. It was a reminder, a warning to be alert, as the campus gates appeared.
The gates were ahead when Hawthorne stopped the sedan. Smith got out into the crowd of students and teachers, the air full of talk. But he walked through it like he was separate, his steps even, his eyes far away yet subconsciously dodging other people. The quad was busy… backpacks moving, laughter and shouts coming in bursts, groups looking at notes. But it felt like something he couldn't be part of. Under the normal sounds was a deeper worry, a quiet growing paranoia that changed every face. Who was watching him?
He moved on to the humanities building, where his class would be held. Marcus was waiting nearby, leaning on the brick wall with arms crossed. Seeing him made Smith feel a twinge… familiar, but now with doubt. Marcus looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, his shirt wrinkled like he just got out of bed and came to school directly. The normal grin was gone, replaced by a tight look around his mouth.
"Smith," Marcus said, his voice flat and tired. He stepped away from the wall, walking next to him.
"You look as tired as I feel," Smith said, keeping his voice easy, looking at Marcus's face.
Marcus gave a short laugh without humor. "Rough night. Father's pushing more on the board prep. Had to… change some things last minute as ordered."
The word stayed between them. Meaning more to Smith's mind than intended. The board meeting… Jack's next try to get closer to the Wesson business. But "change"… a simple word for what could be ruining things, ideas put in to make Jack seem sloppy. Is Marcus finally taking matters into his own hands to be more free? Changes? Who asked for the changes? Smith's mind was a rollercoaster of thoughts.
He nodded, his chest tight. "Any problems?"
Marcus looked at the quad, then back. "Nothing I can't deal with. Thanks for asking though." He rubbed his neck, shoulders down a bit. "The pressure is building. Just… watch out, okay? Things are closing in. See you in class."
The words stayed as Marcus walked off, his steps fast, like running from something unseen. Smith stood there, the morning sun too bright and clear for his liking. He was now doubting himself. Was his suspicion well placed, or misdirected at the wrong person?
He turned to the building, the knot in his chest steady and quiet.
Halfway down the hall, Jenny was there near the entrance of the modest humanities office, papers in hand. Her expression softened when she saw him approaching. That small smile on her face easing his worries just a little.
"Morning Smith," she said, her voice warm and soft.
"Jenny." He stopped, hands in pockets to stop the small shake. "Quiet morning?"
"Yeah." She looked at him, eyes focused on the shadows under his. "You seem… far away. Is everything okay?"
The worry was nice, the most normal thing in his now changed life. "Just the usual haze," he said, trying to sound light. "Family stuff."
She nodded, accepting it because she always did, though her eyes held unspoken questions. "Well if you want a break from the haze… coffee later? Something better than usual."
"Maybe." He gave a small smile, appreciating the gesture.
As she stepped inside the office, Smith kept walking down the corridor, his footsteps echoing alone. His thoughts focused on how distant he had been with his friends lately.
"Are the things happening consequences of the document I signed, or something that would have happened no matter the choice I made?" he wondered as he entered the lecture hall.