Chapter 13 - Whispers in the White Oak
The hunt for the mole turned the Vale estate into a pressure cooker. Ronan ordered a complete digital and physical lockdown. Every staff member, from the head chef to the gardeners, was brought in for intense questioning by Ethan. The atmosphere of love and peace that Seraphina had worked so hard to cultivate over the past twelve months evaporated, replaced by suspicion and fear.
Seraphina refused to sit idly by. She used her unique perspective as a former servant to observe the staff. She knew how people behaved when they were hiding something; she remembered the art of avoiding eye contact and adjusting one's posture to appear invisible.
During a rainy Tuesday afternoon, while the children were upstairs doing their lessons, Seraphina noticed Thomas, the newly hired assistant gardener, moving suspiciously near the eastern perimeter wall. He wasn't trimming the hedges; he was burying a small, black plastic box near the root of a large oak tree.
Instead of calling the guards, which might cause Thomas to bolt, Seraphina walked out into the rain, holding a large umbrella. "Thomas," she called out softly, her voice carrying a maternal warmth she didn't truly feel. "It’s pouring. Why don't you come inside for some hot tea?"
Thomas jumped, dropping his trowel. He looked panicked, his eyes darting toward the wall. "Oh, Mrs. Vale. I... I was just securing the roots before the heavy storm hits. I’m fine, thank you."
"Are you sure?" Seraphina stepped closer, her eyes locking onto the freshly disturbed earth. "Because it looks like you're planting something that doesn't belong in this garden."
Thomas’s expression transformed from submissive servant to cold predator in a fraction of a second. He reached into his tool belt, pulling out a concealed ceramic knife. "You should have stayed inside the kitchen, maid."
Before he could lunge, a heavy shadow detached itself from the nearby trees. Marcus appeared out of nowhere, slamming Thomas onto the muddy ground, disarming him with a brutal, practiced efficiency.
Ronan rushed out a moment later, his face contorted in a mixture of terror for his wife and raw fury at the assassin. He grabbed Thomas by the hair, lifting him up. "Who paid you? Was it Viktor?"
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Thomas spat blood onto the grass, laughing hysterically. "Viktor is already here, Vale. Look at your shipping ports. Look at your legal businesses. You’re already bankrupt, you just don't know it yet."
They dug up the black box. It wasn't a bomb; it was a military-grade signal jammer designed to cut off the estate’s security communications at a specific time. The countdown on the device showed less than twenty-four hours. The final assault was coming.
