The next day.
Imperial College London.
As the Christmas holidays drew nearer, the once solemn and strict century-old university was now overflowing with an irrepressible sense of relief and liveliness.
On the cobblestone streets cleared of snow by snowplows, young students carrying suitcases were scattered about, discussing where to spend the month-long break. Under the iconic Gothic clock tower, some had already begun hanging wreaths of pine branches and red ribbons in celebration of Christmas.
After all, once today ended, the long-awaited holidays would finally arrive.
Russell walked through the atrium and stepped into the familiar lecture hall.
The number of students in the classroom was nearly a third fewer than usual. Those who remained were mostly distracted, quietly chatting in small groups.
And in the reserved seat by the window, the woman with that striking long pale-yellow hair appeared right on schedule.
As usual, Russell walked over and sat in the empty seat beside her.
"Good morning, Miss Mary."
"Good morning, Mr. Thief."
Mary turned her face and looked at Russell's energetic expression. A smile immediately spread across her lips.
"It seems you listened to me properly last night and got a good rest."
"That's right. If I hadn't listened, someone would have gotten angry."
Russell tossed his notebook onto the table and spoke in a casual, slightly sarcastic tone.
"Mrs. Hudson was full of praise for your tea and cookies."
"Except for that excellent detective who scrutinizes the butter ratio with an extremely critical eye."
"She has no idea what's good for her."
Mary rested her chin on her hand and smiled as she spoke.
When the old professor entered the classroom with his textbook, the boring classical literature class began once again.
However, on the final day before the holidays, even the old professor only symbolically wrote a few Latin words on the blackboard before launching into a long, rambling talk about Christmases of his youth in Europe.
Meanwhile, in the audience, Mary Morstan, the outstanding student of Imperial College, was once again openly daydreaming.
"So, what do you plan to do about that old fox, Adrian?"
Russell asked in a low voice.
"I managed to subdue Uncle Benson, but I couldn't take control of the South Shore warehouses."
"I won the first round, but those old men will never give up. They're definitely going to keep trying to make trouble for me."
The girl said quietly.
"But that's fine. Once today is over, I'll have plenty of time to deal with them."
"Is there anything I can help with?"
Russell asked.
"Hmm… let's wait and see for now."
Mary shook her head. "If nothing unexpected happens, Uncle Benson has probably already told the others about you. Did you leave a card?"
"Yeah."
"Then the other elders probably know as well."
Mary's tone grew more certain.
"They're definitely thinking right now, 'Did Mary make some kind of secret deal with a demon like Moriarty?'"
"In short, after the lesson of Benson's example, no one will want to follow in his footsteps for the time being."
The girl said lightly.
"So I'm thinking of testing them again to see if anyone will be the first to take the risk this time."
"If Uncle Adrian remains that stubborn, we can have a proper talk later."
As she spoke, she gave Russell a gentle smile.
"But they're not wrong. I did make a deal with Moriarty."
"Oh?"
Russell rested his chin on one hand, turned slightly toward her, and lowered his voice to match her performance.
"From what I know, that thief who commands respect in the underworld is famous for being extremely picky about food. Ordinary gold, silver, and treasures wouldn't whet his appetite."
"What kind of price did Miss Morstan pay to make that demon willingly serve you?"
"It was certainly an excessive price."
While the old professor was going on at length about the first snowfall along the Seine in Paris, Mary let out a languid sigh.
The girl's slender hand slipped silently into the gap between their seats, hidden beneath the hem of her oversized cashmere coat.
Through Russell's dark gray trousers, her cold fingertips boldly and skillfully touched his thigh, slowly moving upward about a centimeter while carrying a faint ambiguity.
"He not only took away all my affection…"
Mary leaned forward slightly. Her warm breath brushed past Russell's ear like a white camellia.
"Furthermore, I mortgaged my soul and body to him."
Russell held his breath. He lowered his eyes, caught the small hand that was still trying to play tricks under the long dress, and firmly held it in his warm palm.
"That sounds like a losing proposition."
He chuckled softly.
"What if that demon is a greedy one who tries to collect the debt with interest during the Christmas season? Would you be able to handle that?"
"As the representative of Morstan Enterprises, I value the spirit of contracts above all else."
Mary did not pull her hand away. Instead, she slipped her fingers between Russell's and intertwined them tightly.
"He can come collect the interest whenever he likes."
After this intense and bitter struggle, the long, drawn-out school bell finally rang from the top of the Gothic clock tower.
It was also the last bell of this winter for Imperial College London.
The students in the classroom let out cheers of relief and hurriedly began packing away their textbooks in preparation for the holiday celebrations.
Mary released Russell's hand, stood up, and tucked a few strands of pale-yellow hair that had fallen behind her ear back into place.
"Come on, Mr. Demon."
"How about having lunch together?"
She smiled gently and, right in front of everyone, took Russell's arm.
…
12:30 p.m.
Palmer Street, City of London.
One of the private rooms in this first-class private club, frequented by renowned capitalists and hereditary aristocrats, was enveloped in an atmosphere so heavy and frozen it felt as though it had been filled with lead.
The scent of Cuban cigars filled the air. Heavy deep-red velvet curtains completely blocked out the street outside. A single brass gas lamp provided the only sparse light source, barely illuminating the several gloomy faces inside the private room.
Adrian Morstan sat in the central seat. In the middle of the walnut round table in front of him, a pure white card lay quietly.
On that card was, of course, the signature of the person who had made London's elite tremble.
"So this is the reason you not only paid twenty thousand pounds but also agreed like a coward in the meeting to hand over the entire South Bank logistics to that blonde girl?"
Adrian's aged face was hidden in the swirling smoke, his clouded eyes gleaming with an eerie light.
Benson collapsed onto the sofa opposite him. Even though the room was as warm as spring, he kept wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
"That was Moriarty! You people are all just talk. Let's see who can still laugh when that card actually arrives in the safe!"
Benson's voice trembled uncontrollably from extreme terror.
"Even my top-tier safe, two teams of armed bodyguards, and the Dobermans were nothing more than an unprotected backyard to him!"
"If we keep treating Mary as an enemy, that card might end up under our pillows tonight!"
"Ridiculous!"
Howard, seated next to him, suddenly slammed his whiskey glass onto the table.
"There's no way a little girl like that could be involved with Moriarty! Absolutely impossible!"
"But it's the truth, Howard."
Adrian struck the ground with his cane, interrupting the argument between the two.
The old fox's face was gloomy, yet surprisingly calm.
"Mary did hire Moriarty. The fabrication of the weapons incident at the South Bank and the theft from Benson's study—only he could have carried out such an ambitious plan that even Scotland Yard could be manipulated at will."
"Then what should we do? Are we going to just hand over the Morstan family's century-old legacy to a female student who relies on a thief for a living?"
Howard asked.
"Hand it over to her?"
Adrian snorted. "Why? Just because she contacted that thief?"
He slowly and deliberately took a drag on his cigar and exhaled a thick gray ring of smoke.
"Everyone, think carefully. Has Moriarty ever been employed even once before?"
"No… no."
Benson shook his head. "Everyone says he's an eccentric with no motive for theft at all."
"But why? Can that girl order him around?"
Adrian asked.
"Does this mean that man's unbreakable bottom line, or rather his beliefs, have started to waver?"
"He has transformed from a quirky, temperamental thief who started out of pure interest into a mercenary who can make deals with people."
He spoke in a low voice, staring intently at everyone present.
"Do you still not understand what this means?"
"The fact that Mary can hire him means he is not an untouchable ghost."
"In other words, he needs funds, resources, and the ability to smoothly exchange favors in London's high society!"
Adrian stood up and looked down at the card on the table.
"What can Mary do? Even if she has temporarily stabilized the situation, the lifeline of the group's cash flow and more than half of the voting rights are still in the hands of old fossils like us!"
"I can offer twice the amount she can pay! And I can provide resources she cannot prepare!"
"In other words…" Howard instantly understood the true meaning of Adrian's words, his eyes lighting up.
"Since Moriarty is a vicious dog that will bite as long as you give it enough bones, why can't we use this dog ourselves?"
Adrian said coldly.
"At this afternoon's meeting, I intend to firmly reject Mary's proposal to take over the South Bank!"
"Not only that, I must continue to pressure her until she understands that threats alone cannot gain true power."
"If I push her into a corner, she will definitely use Moriarty as her trump card again to attack me!"
A contemptuous smile appeared at the corner of Adrian's wrinkled lips.
"If that thief has the courage to set foot in my study, I am confident I can buy his loyalty with ten times the profit!"
…
3:00 p.m., Morstan Enterprises Building.
London was still cold after the snowfall, but the atmosphere in the conference room was as taut as a bowstring about to snap.
In contrast to yesterday's chaos, today's meeting contained no insincere small talk or cumbersome procedures.
Mary Morstan was once again dressed in a perfectly tailored, dignified dark high-neck velvet gown. She sat majestically in the front-row seat and looked out over the crowd.
"Is everyone here?"
She asked the question without waiting for anyone to answer.
"Then let's stop wasting time. I have a date tonight. Come on, let's start the vote."
There was no compromise or concession. The choices were presented directly to everyone.
Choose either to show loyalty or to stubbornly resist.
Everyone's gazes naturally turned toward Adrian and Benson, who were seated on the left.
Without the slightest hesitation, almost instinctively, Benson raised his right hand.
"I… also agree."
Benson said in a trembling voice.
Even though Benson knew about Adrian's plan, she still held significant influence over him.
Rather than believing in unrealistic pipe dreams, look at the present.
Once Benson took the lead, several small shareholders who depended on him or were frightened by the losses at the South Bank also hesitantly raised their hands.
However, these sporadic movements were clearly far from meeting the absolute majority requirement.
Adrian sat in the large mahogany chair, gripping his cane with both hands.
"I object."
His voice rang out without hesitation, loud and clear, echoing through the empty conference room.
Not only that, he held up several authorization documents beside him.
"Furthermore, on behalf of Mr. Howard and the other four standing directors who were unable to attend, I have exercised the veto and proxy veto rights."
"The chaos at the South Bank does need to be cleaned up, but I will never agree to hand over half of this century-old family's lifeline to a young person who hasn't even graduated from university and whose words and actions are extreme."
Adrian stared fixedly at Mary, an undisguised look of provocation in his eyes.
Therefore, the proposal was not approved.
Regarding the takeover of the South Bank, the joint board of directors plans to separately appoint a professional liquidation team to take over the operations.
"This is a non-negotiable condition, Mary."
With Adrian's decision, the final verdict was delivered.
Even after hearing this, Mary Morstan, seated in the front row, showed neither anger nor agitation. On the contrary, after a brief silence, she suddenly smiled very faintly.
"I see."
The girl elegantly rose from her chair and slowly smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes.
"Then let's just keep dragging it out. With any luck, your liquidation team will persuade Inspector Lestrade to peel off the seals on the South Storage warehouses."
She showed no intention of negotiating or compromising, as though she didn't care about the result at all.
"Uncle Adrian, sleep well."
After being rejected, the girl left the conference room with the same arrogant attitude as yesterday, leaving only her slender, haughty silhouette behind.
The heavy copper-plated oak door closed once again.
Adrian stared fixedly at the tightly shut door and struck the ground hard with his cane.
Let's see what happens.