In Benson Morstan's study in London, Russell hid in the layered shadows and overheard every word of the plan.
"Supply disruption?"
Russell raised one eyebrow and quietly made a mental note.
Then, without a sound, he slipped out from behind the teak bookshelf and moved swiftly through the spacious study.
Following the marks on the map, Russell walked to the fireplace. After carefully examining it, he gently placed his hand on the very delicate wood carving in the lower right corner of the picture frame.
Click.
A faint click came from the frame as it slowly cracked open.
When Russell carefully flipped the oil painting aside, a rotary safe embedded deep within the brick wall suddenly appeared before his eyes.
This was said to be the highest level of security available in London — equipment that even explosives could not easily breach.
He took a deep breath, pressed his ear gently against the cold metal box, and placed his slender fingers on the rotating dial.
Click, click, click…
Three turns to the left, two to the right, then half a notch back to the left…
With his superhuman sense of touch, Russell caught the precise moment when the lock cylinder's gears aligned within the countless notches, separated by the tiniest intervals.
In less than thirty seconds, a final click sounded. Russell opened the supposedly unopenable safe door as easily as if he were opening his own wardrobe.
Inside the safe were stacks of British pounds in cash, several gold bars, and neatly organized jewelry.
However, Russell paid them no attention. His target was several moisture-proof kraft paper envelopes and two black-covered ledgers at the very bottom.
He took out the black ledger and opened it under the faint moonlight coming through the window.
The document contained detailed records of the East District textile factory's raw material procurement over the past three years, including discrepancies between official and unofficial records, as well as records of large sums of money inexplicably flowing into overseas personal accounts.
Another Manila envelope contained not only the title deed to a secret villa in Surrey County that Russell had discovered, but also several photographs and remittance slips detailing Benson's mistress and illegitimate child.
If these facts were made public, Benson's position within the Morstan family would completely collapse. He would also face a fraud investigation by Scotland Yard and the fierce revenge of his notoriously jealous wife.
Russell satisfiedly stuffed the ledgers and envelopes into his coat's inner pocket.
He left the remaining cash and jewelry inside the safe along with a symbolic card, closed the safe door again, and returned the painting to its original position.
Once everything was done, Russell did not hesitate. He slipped back out into London's winter snow and night through the same French window he had entered.
…
2:30 a.m.
Kensington District, Morstan Estate.
Russell had originally planned to collect all three items before delivering them, but after overhearing Benson's plan, he felt he needed to warn Mary immediately. Instead of using the main entrance, he skillfully climbed the carved stone pillar protruding from the outside of the villa's second floor. With a light touch of his toes, he landed silently on the familiar balcony.
Knock, knock.
A rustling sound came from inside the room.
A moment later, a beautiful hand lifted the edge of the curtain.
When Mary saw the snow-covered black figure standing on the balcony, she was startled.
Without hesitation, she unlocked the window, pushed open the French doors, and welcomed in the cold wind mixed with snow — and London's most famous thief.
"Why are you here?"
Mary closed the window, then drew the curtains.
She was wearing a thin pure-white silk nightgown. The neckline was slightly open, exposing a large area of her porcelain-delicate skin.
The girl immediately took a thick wool blanket from the hanger and stood on tiptoe, trying to gently drape it over Russell's dark gray coat, whose shoulders were already soaked with melted snow.
"It's fine. I'm not cold."
Russell stopped her and took the opportunity to hold her slightly cold small hand.
"I have something more important to tell you."
"What is it?"
In the dimly lit bedroom, Mary's emerald-green eyes shone faintly.
She did not pull her hand away from Russell's. Instead, she let her fingertips be enveloped by his large, warm hand that had traveled across most of London in the wind and snow.
"We already have your uncle's weaknesses."
Russell released her hand, took two black-covered ledgers and a thick kraft paper envelope filled with secrets from the moisture-proof pocket inside his coat, and handed them to her.
"Accounting records of the East District factory for the past three years, both official and unofficial, as well as records of money laundering into overseas personal accounts."
Seeing the girl's slightly surprised expression, he continued.
"And evidence proving the existence of his mistress and illegitimate child in Surrey County — land title deeds, photographs, and remittance statements showing that large sums were sent every month without fail."
Mary took the thick documents and quickly flipped through several pages under the dim light of the bedside table.
When the shocking financial records and family photographs that jumped out at her entered her vision, the girl's eyes — still slightly dazed from sleep — suddenly lit up with a chilling enthusiasm and shock.
"These facts alone are enough to send him to life imprisonment."
The girl spoke quietly, then turned around.
"But you didn't have to come all the way here to deliver them."
She said, "It's already late. You could have given them to me at school tomorrow."
"This was just a side effect."
Russell said, "There's something even more important besides this."
Hearing this, Mary slightly stopped the hand holding the ledger and looked up, her expression gradually becoming serious.
"What is it?"
"I overheard a very interesting conversation outside your uncle's study."
Upon hearing this, Mary immediately placed the ledger and envelope she was holding on the bedside table, straightened the collar of her silk robe, and walked barefoot across the heavy Persian carpet to Russell's side in a hurry.
"Are they targeting me? What are they plotting? Assassination?"
There was a faint trace of undisguised contempt and sarcasm in the girl's tone.
"If that were the case, I would have to think more highly of him."
"Unfortunately, he is not foolish enough to go against the wind at this critical juncture."
Russell shrugged.
"He plans to take action against the East District factory. To be precise, he intends to collapse the factory from its roots."
He recounted the conversation he had accidentally overheard, word for word.
"He had already sent his subordinates to the South Bank tonight to find your cousin Philip."
"At sunrise tomorrow, all raw material transportation routes from the South Bank storage area to the East District textile assembly factory will be cut off indefinitely."
"He could come up with any excuse — a strike by transport workers, vehicle repairs, or barge operations halted due to weather… There were countless reasons."
As he spoke, he observed Mary's expression.
"Without raw materials, the stability of the workers that you bought with a large amount of money will last at most three days."
Three days later, not only will they fail to deliver goods and breach contracts, but the halted production lines and bored workers will be incited by certain individuals to protest again.
After all, in a place where even with bonuses there is no work and livelihoods are unstable, it will only cause panic.
"That's not all."
Russell paused.
"The larger the amount of breach penalties snowballs into, the more legitimate reasons Benson will have to convene a family meeting."
"Due to your youthful impulsiveness and lack of crisis management ability, which led to the double blow of contract cancellations by South Bank distributors and production halts in the East District, they are forcibly removing you from your position as acting head of the family."
When he finished speaking, the bedroom was enveloped in a deathly silence for a moment.
Mary slightly lowered her head. Her long pale-yellow hair covered most of her face.
"Heh… haha…"
An unexpected light laugh escaped the girl's lips.
She raised her face, but there was not a trace of fear in her emerald-green eyes — only contempt.
"I thought he would set some perfect trap, but in the end, it was just the most basic tactic of cutting off water and food."
Mary casually pushed aside the ledger that contained enough evidence to bring down Benson, as though it were a worthless pile of paper scraps.
"Even if we couldn't obtain this secret information, the mere fact that he tried to starve thousands of workers in the East End was already enough to trap him in Mycroft's net."
"The government will never allow a large-scale unemployment crisis to be artificially created at this time."
"Besides, even without consulting Mycroft, this kind of thing isn't that troublesome."
She said this, then stretched.
"It's just raw materials. If he wants to cut off the supply…"
"Let him break through the blockade."
Mary walked over to the mirror on the mahogany dressing table, picked up a silver-handled comb, and slowly combed her slightly disheveled pale-yellow hair.
"He only cut off supplies to Philip. He didn't cut off London's entire supply network."
"London is vast. As long as you have money, you can obtain goods from smugglers on the South Bank, fabrics rushed in from Manchester, and even from French merchant ships anchored downstream on the Thames that haven't had time to unload their cargo."
"I'm willing to pay a 20% premium to get them, and I promise to pay on delivery without delay."
"Do you think that by tomorrow at dawn, those profit-driven speculators will line up in front of the East District factory gates with piles of raw materials?"
The comb stopped at the ends of her hair. The girl looked at her reflection in the mirror and curled her lips in a mocking smile.
"Uncle Benson probably got too used to the self-sufficient system within Morstan Enterprises and thought that once he gave up the warehouse on the South Shore, the factory would have no choice but to close."
"He was so focused that he forgot — as long as you have enough money to open a path, there are no raw materials you can't buy."
Russell leaned against the window, watching Mary's confident expression, and nodded ambiguously.
"High-priced acquisitions can certainly solve the immediate problem, but it's by no means a small amount."
He reminded her.
"I'm not very knowledgeable about economics, but even a 20% premium could, over time, become ammunition for your uncle to criticize your wasteful habits."
"This amount is something Morstan family absolutely cannot afford to pay."
Mary turned around, casually tossed the comb onto the dressing table with a clack, and then picked up the ledger.
"So who's going to pay?"
Russell seemed to have guessed Mary's plan from her gaze, but asked on his own to respond to the girl's small expectation.
"Whoever stopped my payment must take responsibility."
The girl smiled mischievously and pointed at the black ledger with her fingertip.
"As an uncle, it's only natural to give money to his niece for the New Year, isn't it?"
"If I have someone have a proper talk with him about his massive gambling debts in the underground casino and the mother and child in Surrey County, I believe I can succeed."
"He will gladly pay for me."
Hearing this, Russell smiled, but suddenly remembered something and asked, "What if he contacts Philip?"
"After contacting other routes, he will have Philip resume supplies, so there will be excess raw materials, right?"
"Furthermore, he can use this opportunity to anger the smugglers against you and avoid this troublesome situation falling on his own shoulders."
"Then just prevent him from resuming supplies."
Mary said with a smile.
"Since Cousin Philip said the South Bank warehouse has safety hazards and needs to be closed for maintenance, let's keep it closed."
"Even if raw materials pile up in the warehouse, with the current high humidity, mold will grow quickly."
"Although the loss affects the entire Morstan company, in terms of personal responsibility, he will bear it all."
Mary walked barefoot across the carpet, one step at a time, toward Russell.
The girl looked up. Russell's reflection appeared in her emerald-green eyes, which held a cunning light.
"He can close it, but when it reopens is entirely up to me."
"What are you planning to do?"
"Do you remember what I told you before — that Philip hired a lot of thugs for shady dealings?"
Mary sat on Russell's lap and said quietly.
"Are you planning to send Inspector Lestrade to crack down on organized crime?"
Russell raised one eyebrow.
"Well, more or less. But nothing will be found on the surface."
The girl nodded lightly.
"After all, those thugs were supposed to be used for shady work, but on paper their identities are completely clean. It's just a contractual issue."
"As long as they clean up properly after doing something, no one will notice."
"So what are you going to do now?"
"It's very simple."
The girl smiled mischievously.
"On the surface, there is no evidence of any wrongdoing on their part, and those violent criminals might not even have criminal records."
"But who decided that their actions needed to be investigated?"
She tilted her head slightly. Her warm breath touched Russell's ear, causing a slight ticklish itch.
"If you can freely enter and exit the most secure vault in London, then borrowing a few boxes of unregistered military firearms from East London smugglers, several hundred pounds of high-performance explosives, or a few unassembled Maxim machine guns shouldn't be that difficult either."
Hearing this, Russell raised one eyebrow. A meaningful light appeared in his deep black eyes.
"Are you trying to frame me?"
"To be precise, this is about helping Inspector Lestrade improve his year-end performance. After all, they were never innocent to begin with."
"I simply gave Inspector Lestrade a legitimate reason to take action."
Mary corrected him while blinking innocently.
"Who could blame me — a kind and helpful London citizen?"