Chapter 29
ALEX
Von Dietz’s eyes are sharp as he watches us. Eva sits rigid, her hands gripping the handbag on her lap.
I keep my voice steady. “What makes you so certain Ozzi used the tunnel recently?”
Von Dietz flips open another file. “First, the timeline. We found fresh tool marks, fragments of foam insulation, bubble wrap, and synthetic lubricants manufactured only in the last three years.”
“OK.” I cross my arms. “So, the tunnel was active recently.”
He gives me a tight smile. “There’s more. My team found splinters of treated wood stamped with a faint but readable manufacturer’s mark. Serial number traces back to a Belgian crate supplier. Weapon crates.”
He lets that sink in. I rub my jaw, bracing for the worst.
“One of their biggest buyers,” he continues, “is a logistics subsidiary controlled by Kurt Ozzi.”
And Geoffroy? I itch to ask, but I clamp my jaw shut. If Von Dietz has a bomb to drop, he’ll drop it.
Eva inhales sharply, eyes closing. I bet she’s picturing the sniper on the cliff, scope glinting and bullets screaming through the pass.
When she looks at me again, her gaze is full of resignation. Like me, she’s steeling herself for Geoffroy’s name.
Von Dietz slides a document across the table. “Surveillance triangulation.”
Eva barely looks at it before nudging it toward me.
“Customs and traffic data,” Von Dietz says as I scan. “That night, before the attempt on Princess Felicia, a delivery truck parked at the forest edge, near the French hunting cabin.”
“Registered to one of Ozzi’s holdings?” I ask.
He doesn’t blink. “A shell company tied to him, yes. GPS shows it idled there for hours, then vanished.”
“So, they carried the rifle through the tunnel,” Eva recaps, her face pale and her voice brittle. “And someone in Mount Evor helped them.”
We both fix on him with a question unspoken but deafening.
Say it already! I want to bark. Stop dragging it out. Stop torturing her!
Von Dietz exhales. “Whoever Ozzi’s mole is, it wasn’t Geoffroy or Julian Castellane.”
Eva freezes. Relief flickers across her face, battling disbelief. Unease surges through me. This feels too easy, too good to be true.
“Why?” I ask flatly. “What clears them?”
“Several things. First, your archive discovery.”
Color returns to Eva’s cheeks.
He turns to her. “Those papers show the duke intended to build a luxury resort on the lodge site.”
“That’s right,” she says.
I lean forward. “If he’d known about the tunnel, he wouldn’t risk bulldozing it or letting architects snoop.”
“Exactly,” Von Dietz agrees. “He would have protected it and not risked exposure.”
Eva nods. “He meant to push forward even against his main investor’s advice.”
“That investor has confirmed ties to Ozzi,” Von Dietz says.
Eva’s lip curls. “Of course he does.”
“Did Julian back his father’s plan, since you cleared him, too?” I ask.
“No documents confirm either way,” Von Dietz admits.
Eva smirks, flashing bitterness. “Julian never contradicted his father. I was the one who opposed the project.”
Von Dietz tilts his head. “May I ask why, Your Grace?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t viable. On paper, maybe. But knowing Geoffroy, I knew he’d sink the estate deeper.”
“Was your opposition known outside the family?” he presses.
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Watch yourself, spook. Implicate her, and you’ll see the nasty side of me.
He catches it and—shockingly—smiles. “Her Grace has been cleared, Monsieur Castellane. You’ll see why I asked in a moment.”
“I made no secret of my opposition,” Eva says evenly.
He appears satisfied. “Your husband applied for blasting near the lodge.”
Eva blinks. “I didn’t even know he’d filed applications for building permits.”
“Had those permits gone through,” Von Dietz says, “the Mount Evor tunnel entrance would’ve been obliterated.”
She leans back. “So Geoffroy nearly wrecked Ozzi’s smuggling route without even realizing it.”
“Correct.”
I want to accept it. It really does sound like my half brother wasn’t a traitor. But doubt lingers like a bad taste.
“All circumstantial,” I point out.
Von Dietz meets my stare. “We have harder evidence, too. We combed through the duc’s and his son’s accounts. Lavish spending, yes. But no unexplained transfers. No ties to Ozzi’s network.”
“He could’ve been paid cash,” I argue.
“Unlikely,” Von Dietz retorts. “The duc never used cash for anything. His patterns stayed consistent. Nothing suggests secret income.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Anything beyond the financial review?”
Von Dietz nods. “The circle of access. From past incidents including the attempt on the crown prince, we know Ozzi’s mole must be in the royals’ inner circle, or at least close enough to touch it.”
Eva’s voice is low but firm. “Geoffroy never had that kind of access. The royals put up with him when they had to, but they never liked him.”
“Exactly,” Von Dietz says. “He wasn’t in a position to trade state secrets. He wasn’t privy to them.”
Eva’s shoulders ease and mine do, too.
For the first time in this briefing, the weight lifts. The Castellane name is safe. For me, it’s a marginal victory. I’m a math professor at the University of Pombrio. My academic output matters more than my family name. But for Millie, Rohinn’s duchess, and for Eva, it means everything.