The study in the Duke's townhouse was quiet. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled back, letting the afternoon light spill onto the mahogany desk. It was hard to believe that a month ago, this room had been the center of a war against scandal.
Carcel stood behind his desk. He opened the heavy iron safe concealed behind a painting of a lush garden. He reached inside and pulled out a heavy leather pouch. It clinked softly as he moved it.
He walked back to the desk and placed the pouch in the center.
Across from him stood Mr. Vance. The spy looked as he always did—unremarkable. He wore a plain gray suit that allowed him to blend into any crowd. He held his hat in his hands, his face blank and unreadable.
Carcel pushed the pouch across the polished wood.
"That settles it," Carcel said. His voice was low and final.
