The following morning, the team and Patric gathered in a private dining room at the Dressrious Salon, which Lady News had secured for their meeting. Although Alisa had coordinated the session, her work obligations kept her from attending.
“Do you actually have a plan to get those files?” Patric asked sharply. He sat back, sipping his tea with practiced elegance. “Hmm. Good tea.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here to consult you,” Report Man said. “We believe the files are stored on a physical server or encrypted hard drives within the mansion. We were hoping you could use your… companions to retrieve them.”
“The hellhounds can find them, but getting into a reinforced vault or a high-security chamber is another matter,” Patric countered. “Besides, if I just steal them, they’ll be labeled as illegal evidence. You might struggle to make a conviction stick in court.”
“We’re meeting with Victoria this afternoon,” Lady News suggested. “She wants those files just as badly as we do. Perhaps we can flip her to our side.”
“Doubtful,” Trevor said, shaking his head. “After the hospital showdown, she almost certainly views us as Franco’s allies.”
“What about Isabel?” Spion asked. “Could she be convinced?”
“Even less likely,” Lady News sighed. “Isabel’s entire luxury lifestyle depends on Franco. She won’t burn the bridge she’s standing on.”
Patric set his cup down with a clatter. “See? You should have let me kill him yesterday.”
“Right now, our only witness is Sarah,” Lady News said thoughtfully, “but she may not be willing to testify, and we can’t force her. We need ironclad physical evidence to prove his crimes.”
“I know exactly what he’s done,” Patric said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous chill. “He murdered my grandmother and his own father. He betrayed the Lost Boys. And that’s just the personal side. Then there’s the empire he built with Victoria: money laundering, child exploitation, bribery, human trafficking… it’s a staggering list of depravity.” He took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea.
“How do you know all of this?” Trevor asked, leaning in.
“The hellhounds told me,” Patric said, his voice flat. “Once I claimed the Tinderbox and became their master, they shared the memories of how Franco had used them. It started small—petty thefts of antiques and fine art. Then it escalated to corporate espionage and money laundering for the elite. But as Franco climbed higher into those inner circles, he realized what those powerful bigwigs truly craved: the privilege to manipulate others. He built a national network of underground clubs for them—human trafficking, exploitation, horrors I can’t unsee. He even bought an island, a private sanctuary where those monsters could prey on minors without fear.”
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The sheer scale of Franco’s evil was beyond what any of them had imagined.
“He isn’t the only one,” Patric added, casually spooning into a trifle. “He, Victoria, and every guest who stepped foot in that club, they’re all part of the same rot. If we get those files, we take down an entire network. If we don’t…” His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. “I’m still going to kill him. For my family.”
A long, heavy silence in the room, then Trevor leaned forward. He finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him since the meeting began. “How did you intrude on his mansion the first time? There was a break-in at Franco’s estate—that was you, wasn’t it? You made it all the way to his bedroom. How did you know the layout well enough to bypass security?”
“Well…” Patric hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the table to avoid Trevor’s eyes. “Someone tipped me off about the bedroom’s location and mentioned the lack of internal cameras. From there, I cross-referenced satellite imagery with the mansion’s architectural archives I found online. My father worked in construction, he taught me how houses are built. It wasn’t exactly a challenge.”
“Who? We might need their help again,” Trevor pushed.
“It was… the butler, Adams,” Patric admitted, looking embarrassed.
“So, you hooked up with him!” Lady News said, a small, gossipy smile playing on her lips.
“My original plan was just to reclaim the Tinderbox,” Patric said, his voice dropping as he focused intently on his dessert. “I matched with Adams on a dating app and spent a few nights with him, subtly pressing for details about the estate’s layout. He never suspected a thing; he just thought I had a… vivid imagination regarding the places I wanted to be with him in that house.” He took another bite of trifle, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
“And when you didn’t find the box, you moved to blackmail,” Report Man said, mercifully changing the subject.
“Yes,” Patric said, regaining his composure. “But he set a trap and torched the lounge.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t try to open the suitcase,” Trevor noted.
“I never actually wanted his money,” Patric revealed. “The blackmail was a test. If he delivered the cash, it confirmed his guilt in the fire that killed his father and stepmother. I didn’t open the bag because the money didn’t matter. The confession did.”
“So that’s why you left it behind,” Trevor realized. “We thought the blackmailer got cold feet.”
“I planned to poison him at the after-party,” Patric continued, “but the fire forced the venue change to the Salon. The security here was too tight for poison, but the gods gave me a chance to steal the Tinderbox during the ball instead.”
“You lifted it during the dance? That’s world-class skill,” Spion said, impressed.
Patric shrugged. “Hermes favored me that night.”
“And the hit at the club?” Report Man asked. “How did you vanish from a locked restroom?”
“With the help of the hellhounds, of course,” Patric explained. “There are three of them, each with a specific gift. The Yellow Hound can alter its size; I sent it to scout the club for several days, which is how I identified the restroom as the tactical sweet spot. On the night of the hit, I deployed the Black Hound—the tracker. It can find anyone, anywhere. It slipped through the ventilation ducts to locate Franco’s suite and waited for him to move toward the restroom. I’d strapped a remote transmitter to its leg; the moment it spotted him, it signaled me. The Yellow Hound had to locate the Black Hound through the restroom vent to confirm the entry point. Once the connection was made, it returned to me and relayed that location to the Gray Hound, which possesses the power of teleportation. I was positioned just outside the factory, waiting. When the signal flashed, the Gray Hound teleported me directly into the restroom, then I fired, but unfortunately, I missed the heart. I heard someone at the door and blinked back to the factory immediately.”
“Wow… a magic hit in a locked room. Who would’ve guessed?” Report Man mumbled. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Half the traps in classic detective fiction are impossible in the real world anyway.”
“Sadly, the hellhounds can’t testify,” Lady News sighed, setting down her teacup. “I spoke to a lawyer friend, supernatural entities and magical phenomena aren’t admissible as direct evidence in a court of law.”
“We still need those files, even a single photo,” Trevor mused.
Lady News looked at Patric. “Have you spoken to Adams recently?”
Patric shook his head. “No.”
“He’s a graduate of the Butler Academy,” Lady News explained. “My father’s butler and my eldest brother’s are both alumni. Those men are the elite of their profession; they value their work above all else and guard their employer’s family honor like a sacred trust. If they hear rumors that their employer is bringing shame to that honor, and if they discover those rumors are true, they feel that dishonor personally. If we show him the truth of Franco’s crimes, his own conscience might force him to help us.”
“Hmm…” Patric hesitated, toyed with his spoon, and finally nodded. “It’s worth a try. He seemed… like a truly honorable man.”