flstandardbreds Chapter 139
Chapter 139
Chapter 139. The Gap (4)
"It can't be. Branch Manager Belheim…… it can't be."
Penelope denied it. And realising it was an emotion-laden statement, she immediately fell silent.
Even in the cold world of high society, such things occasionally happened. Cases where someone desperately defended a person who had, in crude terms, fallen into ruin, and ended up harming themselves in the process.
Back when she had nothing, Penelope had laughed at such people. Unable to separate the public from the personal, led by sentiment—honestly, rich people are disgustingly greedy, she had thought.
But when she heard Kaylun and Jurgen's conversation—that Branch Manager Belheim was the End Order's financial handler.
What came to Penelope's mind was not fear of the backlash from Clarisse that might soon come crashing down. It was the shock of learning that a colleague who had been with them from the very beginning was being sent to the pyre.
"Jurgen."
Desperately, as if clinging to him—Penelope looked at Jurgen. But Jurgen was not lost in such sentiments.
"Y&P Trading Company has no choice but to arrest him."
"What?"
Rather, he was calmly deliberating over the cleanest way to cut Belheim loose for the sake of Y&P Trading Company.
"If we don't want to give Clarisse any bait to bite down on."
Clarisse would likely argue as follows:
'Belheim is the Order's dog! Belheim and Y&P Trading Company have been partners since the very beginning! Therefore, Y&P Trading Company is the Order's dog!'
What would be the easiest way to counter this syllogism?
To say, 'But we're the ones who caught Belheim?'
Even with Clarisse's power and influence, she could manufacture a tiger out of thin air—but with this solid justification, there was a limit to how far she could push. This was the cleanest picture.
"First, we'll need to confirm whether Belheim really is the Order's dog."
Of course, there was also the possibility that everything was a mistake. No matter how thorough the cross-verification between sources, it was ultimately the work of humans.
The kind of coincidence where funding flows happen to overlap—that sort of thing could happen.
"Will you go yourself?"
"Myself."
He had done exactly this dozens, hundreds of times before.
At the gaze of Jurgen—no, Hanbin—shining like that of a stranger, Penelope could not bring herself to say another word.
***
Belheim's office was immaculate. Not a single speck of dust even in the corners of the bookshelves.
As it always was.
"Thank you for making time despite the sudden visit."
Jurgen sat on the sofa and accepted the coffee Belheim offered. That coffee machine had been a gift from Jurgen—Belheim had taken quite a liking to it and had brought it into his office permanently.
"Not at all, Mr. Jurgen. Y&P is an important client of ours, so you are welcome any time. But…… to what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit?"
Belheim gave his characteristic trustworthy smile.
A smile that even Jurgen found himself wanting to believe.
But there was no need to drag this out. Kaylun buying them time was the bare minimum of goodwill.
Before this matter leaked out, Jurgen had to see it through.
"Since when have you been managing the End Order's funds?"
"……Pardon?"
Belheim wore an expression of complete bewilderment.
Not even a fraction of a second of discomfiture—a face that emerged without the slightest crack. Just how many times had he simulated this very situation?
Had Jurgen come here knowing nothing, he would have been completely taken in.
"Listen here, I am giving you one last chance."
"Mr. Jurgen, it is true that we have a candid relationship, but…… you are being rude."
The faint smile faded. A quiet, cold silence settled between the two men.
"My apologies."
Jurgen gave an awkward laugh.
"Actually, that friend Aiden has been cooperating with knights from the capital, you see. And apparently, your name has been raised as a person of interest with ties to the Order."
"Mine, you say?"
"I didn't want to believe it either, but he insists so stubbornly. What more can be said? I'm sorry…… I was testing you."
He even bowed his head in apology. The stiff expression on Belheim's face relaxed ever so slightly.
"What a shock. I thought things were already noisy with the Viscount Thornton affair. My goodness, I really am witnessing one calamity after another."
"So it seems."
"But…… what do you mean, that my name has been raised?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. That knight who came from the capital—Sir Kaylun—is specifically pointing the finger at you. Have you done anything that might give the royal family grounds to hold against you?"
Belheim poured himself more coffee and spoke in an unhurried tone.
"When you do banking in the North, you inevitably end up doing a fair amount of things the royal family wouldn't like."
"So that's why. Somehow, it had the feel of a targeted investigation."
"This is troublesome."
Jurgen rose from his seat.
"Oh, leaving so soon?"
"I came rushing here in quite a panic myself. I'm relieved to hear you're innocent."
"I may have to watch my step for a while. Keep away from suspicious gatherings and the like."
"Do make sure of that."
Belheim cracked a relaxed joke right until the very end as he saw Jurgen out.
The door closed. Jurgen walked at a brisk pace out of Belheim's townhouse.
From the dark alley across the street, a shadow slipped out. A bushy beard, an unremarkable face—it was Aiden.
"The banker—how did he react?"
"Remarkably unreactive."
"Seems a capable fellow."
"Or perhaps he is perfectly clean."
Aiden gave a wry smile. He had been personally involved in gathering the evidence.
When a coincidence stacks more than ten times, it is no longer coincidence but inevitability. In his view, the likelihood of Belheim being the Order's money conduit was approaching 99.9%.
"Haah, days are cold lately. Looks like we've got some hard work ahead."
The two moved without further conversation—like partners who had been breathing in sync for many long years. They took up position in a tree on a hill with a clear view of the manor.
"From here on out, it's a battle of patience."
"That it will be. But it won't take long."
Winter days are short. Dusk settled and snow began to fall.
The season's first snow. Because this was Avenly Hill, where luxury townhouses clustered together, it looked as festive as a snow festival.
Aiden quietly raised a cigarette to his lips.
"Was he a close colleague?"
"We're in the middle of surveillance."
Jurgen slapped the back of his hand, and Aiden set it down with a sullen look.
"Fairly close, yes. A capable fellow."
Shut your mouth, officer
A tactic of prodding someone's side and watching for a reaction. A simple trick used since time immemorial, across all ages and cultures.
One might wonder why anyone would fall for it—but it has been favoured from ancient times to the present precisely because it shakes the very foundations of human psychology. Is there not even a saying: a guilty conscience needs no accuser?
He had desperately hoped there would be nothing. Yet.
Deep in the night, headlights swept across the white expanse of snow. In the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel with an expressionless face, was Gideon Belheim.
Vruuuum—
The vehicle glided silently across the snowy road and slipped away.
"Let's go."
"Yes, sir."
The forms of Jurgen and Aiden quietly gave chase.
***
Belheim's vehicle circled the outskirts of Nortaris City round and round. Places without traffic, where the road surface had been well levelled.
"Having himself a little drive, is he? Ha, the banker must be rolling in it."
In this world, late-night drives were something only the extremely wealthy could indulge in. And at the same time, it was also an excellent method for shaking off pursuers.
Not only could one conceal the exact destination—but most pursuers would either run out of stamina or be forced to reveal themselves.
However, neither Jurgen nor Aiden were ordinary pursuers. Even if Belheim drove for three days straight without sleeping, these were the royal family's finest hunting hounds, who would follow to the ends of hell.
The destination Belheim finally made for was Nortaris's old waterfront. A forsaken place where only decrepit warehouses and collapsed jetties remained, standing grimly.
He parked haphazardly and made his way inside one of the crumbling warehouses.
"A rendezvous point, do you think?"
"Who knows—he may have hidden the Order's Altar there."
Jurgen and Aiden followed naturally behind.
The inside of the warehouse was empty. Nothing but carelessly strewn tarpaulins and a few broken crates.
In the very middle of it all, Belheim sat perched.
'A rather self-regarding fellow.'
Seeing that, Aiden conveyed through hand signals. At that moment, Belheim's low voice echoed through the space.
"Mr. Jurgen, please come out. I know you've been following me."
Both Jurgen and Aiden flinched. Naturally, they did not reveal themselves.
They simply watched Belheim from within the darkness, silently.
"I don't know precisely who you are, Mr. Jurgen, or where you come from. But…… I know you are not a man who takes meaningless action."
Regardless, Belheim continued to speak as if delivering a soliloquy.
"In truth, I had hoped you would not follow me all the way here. But……. If you have pursued me this relentlessly, there is nothing to be done."
As he spoke, Belheim was looking exactly where Jurgen and Aiden were hiding. Jurgen stepped out.
"How did you know?"
"This is my shelter, prepared for emergencies. No matter how carefully one moves……."
Belheim revealed a pocket watch from his breast pocket. At a glance it appeared ordinary, but a single needle—seemingly meaningless—was twitching and writhing.
"Weight cannot disappear."
A pressure-sensing mechanism, was it. With this in place, they could not help but be detected.
Belheim let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Mr. Jurgen, I am sorry. I truly wanted things to go well between us."
He snapped his fingers. Something rippled from within the shadows and revealed itself.
A dozen or so figures draped in black robes.
Not Belheim's private soldiers—nothing like that. The very moment Jurgen had arrived and begun probing him, Belheim had contacted the Order without delay and secured a promise of reinforcements.
The figures present here were the End Order's assassins.
Beings stripped of emotion—tools that existed solely to take lives.
"Please, go in peace. I shall visit your graves occasionally."
They had been, after all, reasonably close acquaintances.
Though circumstances had forced him to have them eliminated, he had no particular desire to witness a gruesome killing scene. The moment Belheim turned his head away—
—Crackk!
With a chilling crack, the assassin who had lunged forward was sent rolling to the opposite side.
"Where do you think you're going— tch— you miserable little wretch."
Without anyone noticing when, Aiden had seized a dagger and was spinning it round and round, grinning.
Belheim stared at Jurgen and Aiden with disbelieving eyes.
"Shall you give me a score for old times' sake?"
"Will you be handling this?"
"My body's been itching a bit lately, what with resting so long."
"Don't do something foolish and get yourself hurt."
"Yes, sir!"
They were exchanging leisurely words as though none of this amounted to anything at all.