Chapter Thirty-Nine
In the small, dimly lit room miles away, Aster finished her phone call, her voice perfectly mimicking the professional tone of ‘Amanda’ from the auction house.
‘Thank you, Mrs Jones,’ Aster said, maintaining the calm, measured cadence that had put Charlotte at ease. ‘We’ll process this immediately. You’ve been very helpful.’
With that, Aster slowly replaced the phone in its cradle, letting her fingers linger for just a moment. As she did, she heard Edward speaking quietly into another phone, his voice low and deferential. Aster couldn’t make out the details, but she knew he wasn’t speaking to just anyone. His tone, unusually respectful, hinted at the importance of the person on the other end.
When Edward finally finished his conversation and turned toward her, Aster couldn’t resist a sly smile. ‘So, am I going to meet your non-boss today?’
Edward looked at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained guarded. ‘Best not,’ he said with a touch of irony. ‘None of this is taking place, remember? And you definitely don’t have clearance.’
Aster’s smile faded slightly as she absorbed his words. The truth was clear, Edward wasn’t in control of the operation. He was merely a conduit, a go-between for those pulling the strings behind the scenes and Aster, who was tasked with executing the plan. The shadowy figure at the other end of Edward’s phone call was the real authority, someone with far more power than either of them, sitting in the heart of the British government.
Edward’s expression turned serious. ‘You’ve done your part providing the idea and the painting, and you’ve done it well. But now, we follow the script. This operation has been planned down to the last detail. We can’t afford any deviations.’
Aster nodded, the gravity of the situation settling over her. The stakes were immense, and the margin for error non-existent. She watched as the operatives in the room continued their work, their fingers flying over keyboards as they began the process of accessing the MP’s account.
Before she turned back to the screens, Aster spoke quietly, her voice laced with a hint of concern. ‘Remember, Charlotte needs to be taken to a place of safety until this is all resolved. She’s served her purpose, now we need to make sure she’s out of harm’s way.’
Edward’s gaze hardened, and he gave her a curt nod. ‘Already taken care of. Officers are already on their way to her address. Don’t worry.’
As Aster turned away, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a piece on a much larger chessboard, manipulated by unseen hands. The presence of Edward’s ‘non-boss,’ lingering at the other end of that phone call, served as a stark reminder of the forces at play, forces far beyond her control.
The auction house was a battlefield. All eyes were on the stage, breaths held.
‘Twenty million pounds,’ the auctioneer announced. Her voice cut through the room, sharp and precise. The bid hung in the air, the excitement rising.
Ariana remained still. Her heart pounded. Across the room, a paddle went up. The bid climbed higher, pushing the tension to its breaking point.
‘Twenty-one million pounds,’ the auctioneer called out. Silence followed. The room was on edge. Who would dare to raise the stakes further? The auction house was a storm of tension. Every breath, every glance was charged.
‘Twenty-two million pounds,’ the auctioneer’s voice rang out. The crowd, frozen, watched as the stakes soared higher.
Back in the small room, the operatives worked furiously. Fingers danced over keyboards, codes flashing across screens. They were close. Very close.
In the auction house, a paddle shot up. ‘Twenty-three million,’ the auctioneer declared. The room buzzed with silent intensity. Who would fold first?
‘Firewall breached,’ an operative muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. The final layers of security were giving way. Another click, another keystroke. Almost there.
‘Twenty-four million pounds,’ the auctioneer’s voice cut through the air. Ariana’s gaze was steely, her nerves taut. The tension was unbearable.
‘We’re in,’ one of the operatives whispered. The bank account details flashed on the screen. All eyes turned to Edward. He gave a sharp nod.
‘Twenty-five million pounds,’ came the auctioneer’s next call. The room was a powder keg ready to explode. The bidders were on the brink.
‘Transfer authorisation,’ the lead operative said, his voice barely above a whisper. The countdown to execution had begun. Every second was critical.
The auctioneer’s gavel hovered in the air. ‘Going once… going twice…’
The operatives stared at their screens, breaths held. ‘Initiate transfer,’ Edward ordered.
‘Sold!’ The gavel came down with a resounding crack.
At the same moment, the operatives hit the final command.
The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight and the auction house erupted. Cheers filled the air, a wave of sound that swept through the room. Ari laughed as Seb hugged her and then they both shook hands with a stunned Sister Bernard. The Sisters of the Divine Mercy had just received a life-changing amount of money and Ari knew that that money was about to be redistributed far and wide improving lives across London, Britain and many countries beyond.
Back in the small, dimly lit room, the atmosphere was far different. The operatives stared at their screens, tension still hanging in the air, until the confirmation flashed in front of them and Anthony’s financial transactions filled the screens.
Edward leant back in his chair, a feral grin spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction as he looked at Aster. ‘We’ve got him.’
The operatives continued their work, piecing together the tangled web of transactions. Each payment led them deeper into a labyrinth of corruption and crime, revealing connections that spanned continents. The account was a hub for laundering money, funding illicit activities, and facilitating deals that spanned everything from arms trafficking to human smuggling.
‘Here’s another one,’ the first operative said, highlighting a particularly large transaction. ‘This one links directly to a group flagged by Interpol for cybercrime.’
‘And this,’ the second operative added, ‘is tied to an offshore account connected to a major European drug syndicate.’
Edward, watching over their shoulders, leant in closer, his expression hardening with each revelation. ‘Keep digging,’ he ordered, his voice like steel. ‘I want every connection, every transaction tied down.’
The operatives worked with a grim determination, mapping out the MP’s secret dealings, uncovering a dark and sprawling network. Each new discovery seemed more damning than the last, money flowing to and from organisations that dealt in death and destruction on a global scale.
‘There’s no end to it,’ muttered a technician, almost to himself, as another series of transactions revealed links to a notorious African warlord. The room seemed to pulse with the enormity of what they were unearthing. This wasn’t just a corrupt politician; this was a man deeply entrenched in a worldwide web of crime.
Edward stood back, absorbing the scope of their findings. His mind raced with the implications. The MP wasn’t just compromised, he was the lynchpin in a much larger, far more dangerous game.
Anthony Jones reached the crescendo of his speech, his voice rising with passion. ‘Let us not be divided by fear, but united by hope. Let us take bold steps forward, confident in our shared vision for a prosperous and secure future.’
The chamber erupted in applause, a wave of approval that washed over him. Anthony allowed himself a small smile as he stepped back from the podium, acknowledging the support with a nod. As he returned to his seat, he was greeted with handshakes and pats on the back. The speech had gone down better than he had hoped—he had played his part to perfection. In another year he’d make a challenge for the leadership. Nothing was going to stop him.
As the session concluded and members filed out, Anthony felt a surge of triumph. This was the boost he needed, a victory that would solidify his standing. His mind briefly drifted to the auction and the Raphael painting, imagining it hanging in his study as a symbol of his success. Everything was falling into place.
He left the chamber, still basking in the afterglow of his performance, and reached into his pocket for his phone. As he switched it on, the screen lit up with a flurry of notifications. He scrolled through quickly, dismissing the less important ones until he saw a message from Charlotte And his world stuttered to a halt.
- Can I give the auction house the details of your Treat account? They’ve asked for a higher limit to secure the bid.
Edward’s stomach twisted into a knot. He stopped dead in his tracks, the din of the surrounding crowd fading into the background. He opened the next message, hoping for a reprieve.
- Never mind. I found the details and passed them on. No need to worry.
His blood ran cold. The words on the screen blurred as panic set in. Charlotte had given them the Treats account details, the very account he had worked so hard to keep hidden from official sources, and Charlotte had just simply handed it over to the first person who asked. An account tied to deals, payments, and operations that could destroy him if exposed. His mind raced, his pulse pounding in his ears. He needed to act, and fast.
Anthony looked up from his phone, his eyes scanning the lobby of Parliament as he tried to compose himself. The usual bustle of politicians and aides seemed distant, almost surreal, as if he were watching from outside his own body. He forced himself to move, heading toward the exit, but something caught his eye, two men standing near the main desk, their eyes discreetly scanning the room. His breath caught in his throat. He recognised the look: undercover detectives, waiting, watching. They hadn’t approached him yet, but it was only a matter of time. They were here for him. The walls were closing in.
Without a second thought, Anthony turned on his heel, walking quickly but not so fast as to draw attention. He made his way through a side corridor, heart racing as he sought an exit that wouldn’t lead him directly past the detectives. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to get out before they could stop him.
Finding a side door, he pushed through it, searching for an escape. His eyes locked onto a car, a modest sedan with the keys still in the ignition. Edward didn’t hesitate.
He yanked open the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and set off carefully, desperate not to draw attention to himself until he was out of the confines of the Houses of Parliament. At each barrier, he was waved through with a smile and a nod as he made a joke about borrowing the wife’s car. He was well known amongst the security staff and had made it his habit to befriend all junior workers. Anthony had never once underestimated the power of the working classes. Now they waved him through and he headed out into Westminster. He had to get to his country house, the one place he could think clearly, away from prying eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as he navigated the London streets with reckless speed.
The city blurred past him as he merged onto the motorway, the needle on the speedometer climbing steadily. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, panic, anger, desperation. How had it all unravelled so quickly? Just hours ago, he was on top of the world, delivering a speech that could have launched him towards the premiership. Now, everything was slipping through his fingers like sand.
He pressed harder on the accelerator, the car surging forward at a hundred miles per hour. The trees along the side of the road became a green blur, the sky a streak of grey above him. He needed to think, to figure out his next move, but all he could feel was the cold grip of fear tightening around his chest.
He knew that once the people he had connections to discovered what had happened, his life wouldn’t be worth a week’s notice. The treat account held the darkest of his dealings—transactions that tied him to criminal organisations across the globe. He wasn’t just facing a political scandal; he was staring down the barrel of a gun held by the very people he had once worked with. There would be no mercy, no second chances.
He spotted the familiar turnoff to his country house up ahead, but something made him hesitate. As he rounded the bend, his eyes caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. Police cars, discreetly parked just beyond the gates of his estate. They were waiting for him. They had expected this move.
His heart pounded in his chest as he realised that there was no safe haven left, no sanctuary where he could gather his thoughts. The net was closing in, and there was no way out.
A sharp curve loomed ahead, but Anthony didn’t ease up on the accelerator. His mind raced through his options, but none of them offered salvation. There was no one he could trust, no way out that wouldn’t end in disgrace or worse.
In the distance, he saw the massive oak tree ahead, standing tall by the roadside, its thick trunk unyielding. Without thinking, without hesitation, he yanked the wheel hard to the right.
The car swerved violently off the road, tyres skidding on the gravel as it barrelled toward the tree. The last thing Anthony saw was the looming bark rushing up to meet him, and then, in an instant, everything went dark.
There was a sickening crunch of metal and glass and then the world outside fell silent as the twisted wreckage settled, smoke rising slowly from the crumpled hood. The stillness of the scene was broken only the sound of a distant combine harvester bringing in the crops.
Aster sat quietly in the corner, listening to the events unfold at the auction house and the Houses of Parliament. From Clem’s initial concern that someone was flooding the market with the new Hiverton muslin, this investigation had grown from broken warehouses in Manchester out to India and then back to a little room in London. Even for Aster, she felt that this was one of her greatest achievements. Certainly, some of her individual victories brought her great comfort, especially her recent triumph over Marcus Barrie, but nothing was on the scale of helping to break an entire chain of global smuggling and racketeering. But now she wanted to go home. She read a text from Ari saying the Vatican had just purchased the painting and would put it on public display for all to see. The nuns were delighted and Aster smiled, happy that all was going well. Shortly after that, Edward put the phone down and walked over to her.
‘That was the police stationed at Jones’ house. His car left the road and hit a tree. Death was instantaneous.’