Adams was an honorable man—a quintessential gentleman of the Neverlands, should you care to categorize him. He was always impeccably dressed, wore a permanent smile, and spoke in soft, measured tones. He drank his tea with an innate elegance, but above all else, he took immense pride in his vocation.
To Adams, the greatest legacy the Neverlander Empire had gifted the world was not the Industrial Revolution, nor the invention of the three-piece suit or the cultural staple of afternoon tea. It wasn’t the legendary rock foursome or the books about the boy wizard. And it certainly wasn’t Neverlander humor—if such a thing even existed in the first place.
No, the Empire’s crowning achievement was domestic service. Every family of genuine wealth, from the ancient aristocrats of the Old World to the aggressive “new money” of emerging markets, craved a Neverlander butler to provide a royal standard of living.
Adams was proud of his profession and his lineage. His father, grandfather, and uncles had all served the most decent families in the Old World. Had he not followed another, more scandalous Neverlander tradition—sleeping with his previous employer’s son—he would still be among them. Instead, he had been forced to flee to the New World to work for Mr. Franco. Franco was “new money” and possessed no discernible taste, but money was money. Adams had managed the Franco estate in New Athens for fifteen years; it was a comfortable life, and he had no complaints to offer the gods.
That afternoon, Mr. Franco was due to be discharged from the hospital. His daughter, Fiona, had arrived early to coordinate a grand welcome banquet. This meant Victoria, the ex-wife, would be attending as well.
Adams had no personal grievance against Victoria; she was charming, intelligent, and dressed far better than her ex-husband, though she occasionally gave Adams a chilling sensation. He actually preferred Isabel, the soon-to-be mistress. Despite her “disgraceful” past, Adams felt the gods had simply been unkind to her. In the twenty-first century, surely there was room for sympathy for those displaced by war. As for Fiona, Adams adored her. He had watched her grow into a smart, elegant lady and marry into nobility. He hoped, one day, to serve her and her children. He simply wished for the family to be happy.
Around noon, after checking every detail of the silver and the menu, Adams received a message.
“Miss me?” It was from Patric, the enormous stud he hadn’t seen in days. “In case you forgot me,” a second text arrived, followed by a photo that made Adams’ ears turn red. He glanced around to ensure he was alone before typing back.
“Certainly, sweetie.”
“Wanna have fun tonight?”
Tonight was difficult, but perhaps after ten or eleven? “After ten or eleven, maybe. Not sure.”
“I’ll come to you. We can have a quick meet.”
A quick meet? Outside the mansion? The idea of a midnight encounter in the gardens, despite the cold, was dangerously exciting. He tried to sound composed: “Not sure. Big event tonight. All family members are attending. I’m not sure I’ll have time.”
A new photo arrived—this one far more explosive.
“You can come, but I don’t promise I can see you.” Adams sent with a wink emoji.
“He agreed,” Patric announced back at the Salon.
“How do you plan to convince him?” Report Man asked.
“The quickest way is to let the hellhounds show him the truth,” Patric replied.
“And if he agrees to help? What’s next?” Spion pressed.
“We can’t just snatch the drive,” Trevor said, leaning over the table. “Stealing the hardware directly is too risky, not just physically, but legally. It’s inadmissible evidence. Our best bet is to copy a subset of the data and hand it to law enforcement. That gives them the ‘probable cause’ they need to secure a formal search warrant for the rest.”
“So, either Adams copies them, or he lets me into the house to do it,” Patric summarized.
“Which files specifically?” Lady News asked. “Photos of him with adult hookers won’t be enough to bury him.”
“We need the files involving Sarah,” Trevor said, his mind racing. “I’ll write a script to run on a thumb drive. It will use facial recognition to find every image of Sarah and automatically upload them to my encrypted server.”
“Excellent,” Lady News said, her eyes sparking. “This sounds like a real spy op.”
A notification chimed. Senator Style had messaged the group: “Victoria canceled her afternoon meeting. She’s heading to the Franco mansion for a family dinner. Fiona’s doing.”
“Fiona must be trying to use her father’s recovery as a chance for a reconciliation,” Lady News noted.
“I have nothing against Fiona,” Patric said, pouring more tea. “She seems kind. I wonder what she’d do if she knew the depths of her parents’ crimes.”
“Did you speak to her at the wedding?” Trevor asked.
“Just a brief congratulation. I didn’t want to be noticed.”
Spion looked at Patric curiously. “You act like a professional—thoughtful, cautious, extraordinary skills. Is the ‘Messengers’ really just a charity, or a spy agency?”
Patric smiled enigmatically. “We are simple believers trying to make the world a better place. If you’d like to make a donation, I can certainly arrange a meeting.”