Chapter 18 Tag #2
I’d known him almost all my life and had never seen the expression he held today.
It was a combination of regret, sorrow, and guilt for not figuring it out sooner.
Not that anyone would have been able to.
Later, Con, Ash, and I would make sure he accepted that and let go of the responsibility he’d put on his own shoulders.
Two more photographs appeared. These were older.
Typhon pointed at the one on the left, showing Ambrose, Dalgleish, MacKenzie, and MacLeod when they were younger.
“This was taken at the Imperial Club,” he began.
“From what we’ve been able to piece together, they’d known each other through various social circles.
” He motioned to the second image. It was of the same four men, but a woman had joined them—Fallon Wallace.
“Chimera played the long game brilliantly,” said Viper. “By identifying men with grievances against the system, men who felt cheated by birthright, and she gave them what they’d always wanted—recognition, purpose, and the promise of revenge.”
The display changed to show Ambrose’s face—not from last night when madness had taken hold, but from a family photo taken at Ash’s twenty-first birthday celebration. He stood in the background, smiling, holding a champagne glass, looking exactly like what we’d all believed him to be.
“Let’s start with Janus,” Viper continued as a more recent photo of him came on the screen.
“Ambrose Ashcroft, age sixty-seven. Second son of the late Duke of Ashcroft. His older brother, George, inherited the title as well as all the family’s holdings with the exception of a trust fund worth two million pounds that had been set up for Ambrose.
It had a modest annuity, enough to be comfortable by most standards, but a fraction of what primogeniture denied him. ” When she paused, I spoke up.
“You said Wallace brought them together. So she was the driving force? Not Janus?”
“Perhaps in the beginning, but like the rest of us, she may have underestimated Ambrose.”
“In the hours before she died, Periscope said, ‘Janus thinks he controls Chimera. He’s wrong. That may be your only chance at survival.’” Ash turned to Gus. “Your mother said she saw Fallon and Ambrose arguing about something outside Ashcroft.”
Gus nodded. “Power struggle, maybe?”
“Based on some of the intel that is still coming in, I’d say that was likely the case,” said Typhon.
He looked over at Sullivan. “My guess is that the argument was over your abduction. Fallon bringing you into the tunnels beneath Ashcroft had the potential to expose what was really happening down there.”
Ash’s eyes widened. “What was—or still is—happening down there? Have we found anything?”
Typhon looked at his mobile, then at Ash. “We think it served as a clearing house. Our team is still there, and what they’ve found looks a lot like what Tag discovered beneath Glenshadow.”
My eyes met Con’s. “Nothing below Blackmoor yet,” he said, answering my unasked question.
Viper cleared her throat. “Back to the briefing,” she said, giving Typhon a pointed look, which he scowled at.
The display shifted to show James Dalgleish. Crime scene photos from last night—his body on the castle floor, blood pooling beneath him.
“James Dalgleish,” Viper continued. “Age fifty-eight. Second son of the Duke of Moorheath. His older brother, Robert, inherited eleven estates across Scotland, an art collection valued at fifty million pounds, and a seat in the House of Lords that came with considerable political influence. James received a loan of five hundred thousand pounds to start his gallery. He built it into an enterprise worth a few million through legitimate sales, but it was never enough. He, like Ambrose, wanted what his brother had been given simply for being born first.”
“The gallery was the perfect cover,” Gus interjected, looking up from his laptop.
“I’ve been tracking his transactions all night.
He’d been moving black market art for years before hooking up with Ambrose.
Once they connected, the money coming in grew exponentially.
He wasn’t just laundering it—he was building a network.
Every buyer, every seller, every corrupt customs official became an asset they could use. ”
The display changed to show shipping manifests and financial records.
“Which brings us to Ian MacKenzie,” Viper said.
A photo appeared of him at what looked like a corporate event, standing in the shadow of a man who was most likely his brother.
“Age fifty-five. Second son of the Duke of Stormbridge. His brother, Donald, inherited the family shipping empire—MacKenzie Lines, worth approximately eight hundred million pounds with routes covering every major port from London to Singapore.”
“Ian was given a position as a ‘logistics coordinator’ in the family company,” Typhon said, the contempt clear in his voice.
“Middle management in an empire that should have been partially his. His brother made him work for a salary in the company their father built. Every day, Ian had to take orders from men he’d gone to school with, men who knew exactly what he should have been versus what he’d become. ”
“Humiliating,” I murmured, wondering if Cameron and Maggie felt as though I’d cheated them out of our collective birthright.
While each had income-generating trusts valued in the millions, perhaps they resented my residency at Glenshadow as well as my control of the majority of our family holdings.
I’d always seen it as a responsibility I was forced to take on as the oldest. However, looking at it from their point of view, maybe I had it all wrong.
As if she sensed my discomfort, Leila wrapped her arm through mine and leaned into me. “I love you,” she whispered, motioning to where Gus was speaking.
“MacKenzie—Ian, that is—used his position brilliantly, though,” he said.
“The shipping records I’ve analyzed show he was moving weapons components for at least three years before AIWS.
Small amounts, nothing that would trigger alerts, but it adds up.
He created an entire shadow logistics network within his brother’s company. ”
“He’s currently in medical custody,” Viper added. “Paralyzed from the waist down from his gunshot wound. He’s been cooperating fully in exchange for protection—the buyers who lost money on AIWS want blood, and he’s an easy target.”
The final photo appeared on the display. The kindly estate manager, tears streaming down his weathered face, in what was clearly an interrogation room.
“Fergus MacLeod,” Viper said, her tone softening slightly. “This is where the story becomes more complex.”
She pulled up a family tree on the display, showing Scottish noble lineages going back centuries.
“The Bramshire dukedom is lesser-known but ancient. The family holdings include three Highland estates and grazing rights to nearly ten thousand acres. Fergus’s older brother, Hamish, inherited everything when their father died thirty-five years ago.
Hamish’s first act was to hire Fergus as estate manager—essentially making him a paid servant on lands that should have been partially his. ”
“But that wasn’t the worst part,” Typhon said. “Hamish insisted on paying him a standard salary. A pittance, really, which is why he took on other estates.”
“Jesus,” Con muttered. “That’s cold.”
“It gets more complicated,” Viper continued.
“Fergus married Fiona Campbell twenty-five years ago. She was a schoolteacher from Inverness, who came from a working-class background. Fergus never told her about his noble heritage—he was too ashamed to admit that he was essentially a servant to his own brother. As far as she knew, she’d married a hardworking estate manager who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps. ”
“Their daughter Isla never knew, either,” Typhon added.
“She grew up believing her father was just a dedicated employee who’d saved every penny to send her to university.
She’s twenty-four now, a marine biologist doing Arctic research in Norway.
Her whole life has been built on a lie her father told to protect his pride. ”
Renegade finally spoke from his place by the window. “My family had no idea that the tunnels beneath Dunravin were being used or that they were even viable.”
“No one understands that better than Ash, Con, and I,” I told him. “So you’re aware, MacLeod did a good job warning us to stay out of them, citing safety concerns.”
While he nodded, I sensed he felt the same guilt as the rest of us whose estates were part of Labyrinth’s network. It was far worse for Ash, learning the level of Ambrose’s involvement.
“I know Isla. We grew up together. She’ll be devastated by this,” said Renegade.
Viper’s expression darkened. “Which raises another concern: her safety and that of her mother. Once we’re certain they had no knowledge or involvement with Labyrinth, we’ll do whatever we can to make sure there’s no fallout for them.”
Renegade’s mouth gaped. “Once you’re certain? You can’t think—”
“That my uncle was behind one of the most complex and dangerous criminal enterprises in UK history?” Ash stood and paced. “It’s no different, Callen, for me or for them. We have a responsibility to carry out the investigation as we would any other.”
“Right,” Renegade muttered. While I didn’t care for his tone and I doubted Viper or Typhon did, either, he deserved the time and space to reconcile the man he grew up believing was a trusted member of Dunravin’s staff with the criminal he now knew him to be.