The Bomb Collar (2)
The heavy door closed with a long, groaning creak, and only then did true calm settle over the office. The thick aroma of Conrad Salcher’s cigar and the cloying scent of his expensive cologne still hung in the air like an unwelcome guest. Laura unconsciously wrinkled her nose. The smell of money could be this crudely unpleasant. She glanced at Mikhail, who was sunk deep into the sofa opposite her, idly turning an empty teacup in his hands. He looked exactly as he always did.
She remembered the way Conrad had left—face flushed crimson, staggering as though drunk. It was understandable. Yet the sight had left a sour taste in her mouth. She herself had been stunned when she first confronted the infamous wastrel prince. She had been equally stunned by the sheer scale of his business vision. But that was then. The situation now was completely different from those early days right after his exile from the capital. Hadn’t Mikhail, the Tourism Special Zone, the slot machines, and the pachinko all proven wildly successful? In that case, the goblin investor should have shown a completely different attitude.
“To think that that is the Empire’s greatest investor. How amusing.”
Even Laura was slightly surprised by her own words. The contempt and irritation in her voice were far more naked than she had intended.
“Failing to recognize a premium product like Your Highness at first glance.”
She was genuinely displeased. Throughout their meeting, Conrad Salcher had thoroughly ignored Mikhail. It had been obvious that he regarded the prince as nothing more than the public face of the enterprise—or worse, Laura’s puppet—and was offering only the most perfunctory courtesy. At least until Mikhail had asked who would be evaluating that risk. The arrogance, the sheer stupidity of it, made her blood boil. Who dared to evaluate whom?
“No.” Mikhail answered lazily. He had his head tilted back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “That’s exactly the picture I wanted.” A faint, satisfied smile curved his lips. “It’s better they don’t know what I really am unless they meet me face to face. I need to keep them guessing. Just like that guy.”
Mikhail rose and stretched, then sauntered over to the window. He parted the curtains and peered outside.
“Besides, if word got out that I’m not only a handsome member of the imperial family but a genius on top of it, the marriage proposals would come flooding in even worse than they do now. Actually, never mind marriage proposals. Just thinking about the political pressure that would follow is exhausting enough…” He gave an exaggerated shiver and shrugged. “Everything is being done in your name and Salcher’s. I’m just the idiot who doesn’t know anything and simply puts his name on your products as a guarantor. The only places my name should appear publicly are… slot machines, pachinko, card games, liquor, Toto. Those trivial little things are more than enough.”
He counted them off on his fingers, then turned back to Laura with a crooked grin.
“I just need to be the degenerate who loves to play. A stupid degenerate who spends all his time fooling around in your and Josepina’s skirts. Someone who seems quite impressive when you meet him in person, yet has absolutely no interest in politics or power struggles. That’s the image I like.”
Laura found herself unable to reply. Standing out only got you beaten. From the very beginning, everything had unfolded exactly as he intended, and the world’s perception was flowing precisely in the direction he desired. The Seventh Prince Mikhail only came up with ideas related to entertainment; the real work was handled by two capable women; and he himself did nothing but let beautiful women drag him around by the nose day and night. That was the rumor.
Yet…
Laura unconsciously lowered her gaze to her own chest. If that’s the image you want, then why don’t you ever lay a single finger on me?
A stupid degenerate who spends all his time fooling around in your and Josepina’s skirts. The words echoed in her ears. If he wanted the world to believe it, shouldn’t he at least pretend? But he never had. Not once.
Right after the success of his liquor business, she had told herself it was only natural—they had not known each other long. She assumed he was testing the waters. But that wasn’t it. Sometimes she would appear before him in a newly tailored dress or different accessories and ask his opinion. He would always answer with genuine sincerity: “It’s pretty.” Mikhail was not the sort to offer empty flattery, so she knew the praise was real. Each time, a warm tickle would bloom in her chest. But that was all. His gaze remained clean, his demeanor never slipped. Aside from the occasional mischievous joke or complaining that his shoulders and limbs ached from playing too hard and asking for a massage, there was never any physical contact. He seemed interested in touching her ears or tail, but even then…
And lately Josepina had begun paying noticeably more attention to her appearance. In the beginning she had seemed utterly obsessed with work and promotion, indifferent to looks. Recently, however, subtle changes had appeared—carefully combing her hair, switching to a higher-quality ribbon. She was still Josepina, yet those small shifts unsettled Laura.
…Why does that make me uneasy?
Jealousy? Impossible. Laura shook her head inwardly. It was an emotion she could not understand. She forcibly pushed the distracting thoughts aside and returned to the main topic.
“Even so, Your Highness, that was quite vicious of you.” Laura changed the subject, as if trying to shake off her complicated feelings. “You only explained half of it, didn’t you? That Credit Default Swap. That was the real point, wasn’t it?”
The shock she had felt upon first hearing the concept came rushing back. The idea of slicing assets into tiny pieces and turning them into liquid securities had been astonishing. The collateralized debt obligations built upon that foundation had been equally stunning. But none of it compared to the impact of the “Credit Default Swap” that followed—an insurance policy that let people buy and sell default itself. A diabolical notion that transformed risk into yet another financial product. The “guarantee” Mikhail had spoken of during his conversation with Conrad was precisely that.
“They’re going to copy us the moment we release the product anyway,” Mikhail replied indifferently. “We’re not doing this to make money… we’re just putting up insurance so that no one—for example, a bitch like that Anastasia—can try any funny business. Was there any need to explain the whole thing in detail? Besides, it was infuriating, wasn’t it? That guy.”
Laura burst out laughing before she could stop herself. He was right. Who was Conrad Salcher—a mere banker and investor—to presume to show consideration to anyone? The audacity.
“In any case, the public story is clear, right? It was all you and Josepina. I knew nothing.” Mikhail drove the point home once more. He looked at her for a moment, then added with a soft chuckle, “Don’t worry. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take full responsibility. I won’t do anything as pathetic as cutting off my own tail.”
He laughed again. “I’d rather die than live that cowardly. A nice, clean dive into the sea off Vladimir’s coast, for example.”
Mikhail laughed as though he found the idea genuinely hilarious. “Though if nobles actually possessed any sense of shame, the Empire would be populated only by commoners by now.”
It was a joke so mischievous it bordered on blasphemy. Yet Laura knew he meant every word. Unlike the other nobles, Mikhail would never sever his own limbs and flee the moment danger arrived. She did not know what drove him to be that way—pride, or some strange personal creed only he possessed. What she did know was that he would rather die than do anything he found distasteful or “ugly” by his own standards. It was a conviction she had gained after months of working beside him on countless ventures.
If, by some remote chance, that belief proved wrong—if she were ever abandoned by him—it would simply be the price she paid for choosing the wrong investment as a merchant. Nothing more, nothing less.
But Laura was certain. Accepting Mikhail’s proposal that day had been the greatest decision of her life, and she would never be cast aside by him. The thought brought a wave of relief. She no longer felt the need to hide her emotions, nor did she want to. The faint smile that had lingered on Laura’s lips vanished, replaced by a bright, radiant one. Behind her, she felt her tail rise softly and begin to sway from side to side.
“Of course, Your Highness,” she answered, smiling widely, her voice bright with excitement. “Of course.”