Chapter 308 – The Royal Crest
Inside the factory office.
Lorne looked at Lawyer Jurgen, who was carefully reviewing the acquisition contract beside him, and asked, "Any problems with the agreement?"
"A few minor details that could pose legal risks, but rest assured, I'll handle them and fix everything in the final version." Lawyer Jurgen lifted his gaze from the pages, adjusted the gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and turned to his employer.
"Mr. Scott, is something on your mind?" He sensed that his client had something else he wanted to say.
"Lawyer Jurgen, would you be interested—" Lorne suddenly extended an invitation, "—in becoming my personal legal counsel?"
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"Legal counsel?" Jurgen was taken aback.
"Exactly. After working with you these past days, I'm thoroughly satisfied with your professionalism and attitude." Lorne confirmed, "As my businesses expand, I'll face more and more complex legal issues. A rigorous professional like you is precisely what I need."
He added, hoping to ease any concerns, "You wouldn't have to be here full-time; a retainer arrangement would be fine—just provide advice whenever I have legal questions."
"I appreciate your confidence and the offer," Jurgen answered cautiously after a moment's thought, "but I need to give it serious consideration. I'm swamped with pending cases right now and don't think I could spare enough energy for a long-term advisory role."
His words carried a polite refusal, yet left the door open.
A hint of disappointment crept into Lorne's tone, but he adjusted quickly and shifted topics. "By the way, Lawyer Jurgen, you're well-informed. Do you know of any houses for sale in Backlund with good locations, decent surroundings, and fair prices?
As a professional solicitor, the man in front of him had doubtless handled plenty of property-sale contracts lately and would have access to quality leads.
Asking him might prove more cost-effective than going through estate agents—those brokers might inflate prices for commission.
"A house?"
"Yes. I want a place of my own." Lorne nodded.
Just one? You mean—he doesn't own a house?—Jurgen looked at him in mild surprise. A man as wealthy and reputable as Mr. Scott didn't possess property in Backlund?
"You don't own a residence in Backlund?"
"Every time you see me, isn't it in this factory office?" Lorne smiled and repeated the explanation he had given Hazel.
"I can't keep inviting those distinguished gentlemen and lovely ladies to a factory in East Borough, can I?" he joked.
"I like machinery, but that doesn't mean I enjoy sleeping beside lathes and milling machines."
"I see." Jurgen nodded in understanding.
"Because of the stock-market crash, many in Backlund are off-loading properties, and prices have fallen quite a bit."
"Hmm—" He pondered for a moment, recalling relevant information. "Williams Street—there's a villa with a garden for sale.
"The owner is a gentleman from Jianhai County who recently consulted me on conveyancing matters."
Williams Street—rather far from here, but the area seems pleasant—Lorne pictured Backlund's map in his mind.
"Could you tell me more? Of course, if it involves client confidentiality, forget I asked." Lorne asked politely.
"No problem—the gentleman himself is anxious to find a buyer." Jurgen continued, "The house originally belonged to a bankrupt viscount some twenty or thirty years ago, changed hands several times, and was finally bought by that gentleman."
"So why's he selling?" Lorne asked curiously.
"He'd planned to stay in Backlund long-term, but the financial crisis hit him hard; his cash-flow is tight, so he's selling up and returning to Jianhai County." Jurgen explained.
Another one undone by the financial crisis—Lorne's mouth twitched.
Stocks have deeper consequences than I thought.
"It's a two-storey detached villa with its own garden and plenty of interior space. Including taxes, he paid nearly five thousand pounds; now you could secure it for about two thousand."
"And it borders Empress Borough—excellent location."
Two thousand pounds—quite a bargain. Lorne was tempted.
"Could you introduce me?"
"Of course. But viewings and negotiations may have to wait a few days while I arrange a time with the owner."
"No rush—I've plenty to deal with myself."
That evening on the night of the charity ball.
Lorne picked up a bottle of amber cologne, cautiously dabbed a few drops on his wrist, then gently patted them onto various spots. Hazel had recommended it as the most fashionable scent for gentlemen.
Pure, understated musk—quietly noble without ostentation.
"Such a fuss—even cologne demands ritual. Apply it early so the top and heart notes—"
—can dissipate before the banquet."
He studied his reflection: double-breasted black tailcoat, starched white high-collar shirt, and mirror-bright boots that reflected his silhouette.
"Tch—feels odd, nothing like my usual style—"
"Whatever, I'll hardly wear this outfit anyway." He lifted the tall black silk top-hat and prepared to leave.
Today was the day of the charity ball.
Though his Calamity premonition stayed silent, he sensed the evening might not be peaceful.
Sharon hadn't contacted him again, and Hazel had yet to respond about fund management. He rode a rented luxurious carriage toward Backlund Police Headquarters.
Normally, church-related events were held in their own sanctuaries. Originally, the Night Church had planned the ball at Saint Samuel Cathedral, but the Storm Church's strong objections forced the venue to the police headquarters' auditorium.
"So many people?"
The carriage stopped some distance from the station, and the scene surprised him.
The surrounding streets were packed with private carriages bearing distinctive family crests, clearly visible under the gas-lamps.
"Looks like—most of Backlund's nobility and notables are here—" he swept his gaze over the emblems of conservatives, new-party factions—
"What's that?"
A particularly ornate four-wheeler caught his eye—or rather, the crest on its door did.
The emblem's central figure was a straight downward-pointing sword topped by a bright crimson crown.
"Sword of Judgement"—Lorne's pupils contracted and his breath caught.
It was the crest of the Loen royal house—the Augustus family!
The vague unease he had felt all day suddenly crystallised into sharp foreboding.
"Coming here," he murmured, "seems—to have been an Error."