A Pleasant Dinner Party
A pleasant dinner party at 7 p.m. Despite a few hiccups, the social gathering proceeded as planned. The venue was a party room inside the Thames & Bray department store. The attendees were mostly Transco executives and investors, along with various VIPs. They were such esteemed guests that the entire department store had closed early for the occasion, leaving the massive building completely empty just to ensure the safety and comfort of people dining in a single room.
Surprisingly, the event wasn't overly extravagant. It took the form of a refined dinner party, with everyone seated around the table. In the center of the room stood a table draped in a tablecloth, adorned with gold candelabras and bouquets of white roses. The floor was covered with a Persian-style carpet featuring intricate patterns that seemed to encompass the entire universe. Victorian-era furniture evoking old-world elegance, grandfather clocks, and a fireplace were arranged around the perimeter. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling bathed the entire room in a soft, ambient glow.
"I hope you're finding your stay comfortable, Lord Straford? It's such a shame that something unpleasant had to mar this fine evening."
The middle-aged woman seated across from me asked in a thoughtful tone. I paused mid-slice on my beef Wellington and forced a smile as I replied.
"I'm doing just fine, no complaints. Thanks to all the care from your company."
She smiled contentedly at my response. The woman's name was Isabella Owen, one of Transco's vice presidents and the Chief Operating Officer (COO). She had gray bobbed hair and brown eyes, looking far younger than her position suggested—probably thanks to the cables extending from both sides of her face.
I continued, "Don't worry about what happened on the way here. Thanks to the security detail you provided, I made it without a scratch."
"That's a relief. I sincerely hope your stay here is filled only with comfort."
"We'll arrange transport to Birmingham soon enough. Like Owen says, relax and take it easy without any worries."
A deep, resonant voice cut in from the head of the table. The Shareholder, dressed in a tailcoat and holding a wine glass filled with amber liquid, smiled leisurely like the master of this domain. What surprised me wasn't Owen, but the fact that the Shareholder occupied the seat of honor. Apparently, he was a registered outside director on Transco's board, which explained the placement. Probably participating as an investor. Oh, and for the record, I was awkwardly playing along in a tuxedo with a white base and black accents, trying to stay on their good side.
"Exactly, Lord William! The rioters are already reduced to street trash. Feel free to enjoy your leisure without a care!"
That came from a somewhat portly man seated three spots down from Owen. Great dinner conversation, really whetting the appetite.
"I hear the commercial district's death toll has been quite low lately. Shame it'll spike a bit because of this incident."
"Hahaha! What are you talking about? This was just trash disposal—it doesn't count toward those stats."
Oh, so that's how it works. Good to know. He was the Transco Security Chief, sporting a goatee and a khaki uniform. Whether I was offended or not, he beamed triumphantly like the Duke of Wellington after Waterloo. Fitting, since Wellington was going into my stomach right then. Honestly, though, Korean BBQ would have been tastier.
"By the way, Lord William, what's taking you to Birmingham? For your safety, staying with us would be far preferable."
Owen asked. Beneath her seemingly friendly smile lurked a subtle intent to probe my insides.
Should I lie? Nah, their emotion-recognition software might analyze it and breed suspicion. Better to brush it off. I had no obligation to reveal everything anyway.
"I've got some personal business to handle. It's about my own affairs, so it's a bit awkward to discuss."
"Ah, my apologies. You must have plenty of private matters to sort out as Earl. It was rude of me to pry. Please forgive my impertinence."
"Of course, staying in Birmingham won't mean I forget your help. Just give me a call, and I'll rush over to join forces."
"That's awfully kind of you. Hohoho."
Looks like I dodged that one for now.
...
We wrapped up the meal with half-hearted chit-chat and food shoved in more out of obligation than enjoyment. Next, the servers brought dessert: sticky toffee pudding topped with vanilla cream. Note that "pudding" here isn't the gelatin kind—it's a general term for dessert. Sticky toffee is a cake with dates drenched in caramel sauce. Honestly, it was way too sweet for my taste. But out of politeness, I poked at it, and that's when the Shareholder spoke up while cutting his apple pie into bite-sized pieces.
"Come to think of it, Lord William, are you planning to keep holding onto those securities?"
The lively buzz of conversation around the table suddenly chilled. Owen, the Security Chief, even the branch manager type next to me—all turned their heads my way. It felt like every eye and ear in the room was fixed on me. Alone in the darkness, surrounded by staring eyes, sweat beaded on my palms.
Fuck...
I knew it was too good to be true that they hadn't brought it up. Time to play dumb.
"Pardon? What do you mean by that...?"
"Heh heh, exactly what I said. It's not something you want to lug around everywhere."
Owen chimed in. "Now that you mention it, we've never actually seen the real thing. You didn't bring it here, so are you keeping it at your lodgings?"
Either on me or at the safehouse. I'd already changed clothes, so they'd know I didn't have it on me. No escape.
"Yes, I don't have it on me right now. So it must be at the lodgings."
"Good heavens. Is that safe? What if thieves break in and take that precious item...?"
Thieves in the safehouse you provided? Give me a break, bitch.
Her tone was still polite, but the kindly crinkles around her eyes had vanished. The other guests broke their silence, murmuring among themselves. From what I could overhear, it was like a kid losing daddy's wallet—pure condescension.
"No need to worry. Do you think I'd leave it unguarded without some ace up my sleeve?"
"An ace, eh...? I think I get it. But I'm not sure if that's enough."
"Then what kind of assurance do you need?"
The Shareholder didn't answer. Instead, the Security Chief piped up in agreement.
"Exactly. Especially with Anastasis goons potentially targeting you anytime, we need to keep the securities' location vague, even as a bluff."
I expressed my displeasure with firm resolve. "There's no need for that. I'm the one they're after anyway."
"Do you not trust us? That might hurt our feelings. Transco's even firing on civilians to maintain internal stability against Anastasis incursions."
Are you saying you massacred people because of me??? Trash disposal my ass, you psycho.
I forced my face to stay neutral, though my fist clenched under the table.
"That incident is regrettable, of course. But as you know, the securities only work their magic in my possession."
"Still, that's too vulnerable. Anyone with bad intentions could smash and grab it in no time."
"What the hell do you mean by—!"
Thud! Crash!
I shoved back my chair and stood, glaring at the Security Chief. The pudding I hadn't wanted splattered on the floor, dish and all. He shrugged indifferently under my stare, looking up at me with infuriating smugness.
Is this why they invited me? I expected them to tug the leash, but ordering me to grovel was a new low. Like Margaret Thatcher in her dementia days, screwing over widows and orphans. These scamming bastards deserved an endoscopy with a seven-foot eel. I was already pondering excuses if I skewered the Security Chief's skull with a fork when the Shareholder intervened like a mediator from on high.
"Whoa, whoa, let's all calm down. And Lord William, I shouldn't have brought it up. I apologize. Security Chief, you apologize too."
"Yes, sorry, Lord William. I was too casual. Forgive my rudeness."
Making a fool of me alone. But blowing up now would make me the real idiot socially. Can't afford to seem petty—gotta swallow this shit.
"...Yes. I accept your sentiment."
"Good. We're all just looking out for you—don't take it to heart. We're on the same team, right?"
Yeah, right. Holding back for Birmingham. At least their blatant intentions let me cut ties cleanly.
As things settled, servers rushed in to clean up the shattered dish and pudding.
......
Next, a server brought tea. I sipped slowly to calm my nerves when I felt eyes from the head of the table. What now? More to say? I glanced over with just my eyes.
The Shareholder had twisted his upper body toward me, face uncomfortably close.
"Ahem! Hm!"
Holy shit. Nearly spat my tea in his face. I barely swallowed and composed myself.
"Lord Shareholder? Do you have something to say?"
"Ah... nothing at all. Just hoping your bodyguard fulfills her duties properly."
"What do you mean by that?"
"We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents. You're not alone anymore, after all."
Another reference to Bell... but this felt more ominous than before. He said nothing more, just stared. An eerie pressure built up. Why say that? Could my wildest suspicion be...?
"Lord Shareholder, what did you mean by—"
Emergency! Emergency! This is a real situation! Level 5 terror alert issued! All staff, escort VIPs to the panic room...
"What the—? System glitch?"
"Rioters...?"
"Nah, no way. Security's probably wiped out their hideouts by now..."
The startled guests flinched momentarily, then pressed hands to heads or necks, listening to remote comms. Soon, their eyes widened in horror. They screamed in unison, shoving past each other to flee the room. A poor server who'd come to relay news got trampled the moment he opened the door.
The implication was clear. Terror attack in progress. Target: this department store.
(Isabella Owen)