The Caretaker
As we entered the compound, the beauty of the surroundings took my breath away. The entrance was lined with a sea of flowers, their vibrant hues swaying gently in the breeze. A fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, its water cascading in rhythmic splashes. Across the small, white-painted fence lay a vast field where horses galloped freely, their sleek coats shining under the midday sun.
It was a mansion, but unlike the one Sabastian owned, this was a service mansion. Its primary function wasn’t grandeur or status; it was practicality, though with a clear emphasis on style. Stables to the left gleamed with fresh coats of paint, and I could see workers diligently cleaning and feeding the horses. The atmosphere was serene, the hum of activity blending seamlessly with the natural beauty around us.
“This place is incredible,” I said softly, glancing at Evander, who smiled at my awestruck expression.
“Wait until you see inside,” he replied with a chuckle.
The man we were here to meet appeared moments later. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that seemed almost too formal for the setting. Beside him, a chauffeur carried a silver ice bucket with two bottles of wine nestled inside.
“Welcome,” the man greeted us warmly, extending his hand first to Evander and then to me. His grip was firm but not overpowering, his demeanor exuding confidence. “Please, have some wine.”
I nodded politely as the chauffeur poured the chilled liquid into crystal glasses. The man motioned for us to follow him inside, and we trailed behind, sipping our wine. The flavor was rich, a perfect blend of sweet and dry.
As we stepped into the mansion, I couldn’t help but admire the interior. The parlor was stylish yet inviting, with plush furniture in muted tones that complemented the intricate woodwork of the walls. A grand chandelier hung overhead, its crystals refracting the sunlight streaming in through large windows.
“This is beautiful,” I commented, unable to hold back my admiration.
“Thank you,” the man replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Even though this is a service mansion, we believe in maintaining a certain standard. Every material here was chosen for its quality. Those couches, for example, are custom-made with imported leather. The woodwork is mahogany, sourced from the finest forests.”
Evander smirked. “Only the best for you, huh?”
The man chuckled. “It’s not about luxury; it’s about making a statement. Even in the shadows, one should never lose sight of style.”
Once we were seated, the atmosphere shifted to something more serious. The man leaned back in his chair, his wine glass resting lightly in his hand.
“I’m aware of why you’re here,” he began, his tone measured. “The missing cargo. It’s a peculiar case, to say the least.”
Evander nodded. “You said you had information?”
The man swirled his wine, watching the liquid with a thoughtful expression. "I wasn’t at the docks when it happened, but I have my sources. That’s my role, after all—to watch from the shadows and gather what others cannot. What I can confirm is that the cargo wasn’t stolen in transit, nor was it taken after being unloaded.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “Then where? How?”
The man’s eyes met mine, his expression calm but laced with caution. “It was exchanged at the docks themselves. Replicas were swapped for the real items. By the time the shipment left the port, it was carrying nothing but fakes.”
Evander frowned. “And no one noticed this? Not even the dock workers?”
“The exchange was seamless,” the man replied. “The orchestrator planned it meticulously, ensuring no one would detect anything amiss. It’s why your spy didn’t notice—there was nothing unusual to report from the outside.”
I processed his words, my mind racing. “So the real cargo... it’s still at the docks?”
“Most likely,” the man agreed. “But it’s buried among countless other containers. The docks are vast, a maze of shipments waiting to be cleared. The orchestrator is watching, biding their time. They’ll wait until the heat dies down before moving it.”
Evander leaned back, frustration evident on his face. “So we’re stuck waiting? That’s not exactly actionable advice.”
The man smirked faintly. “Patience, Evander. Rushing in blind will only raise suspicion and risk exposing your operation. Right now, discretion is your ally. Let the orchestrator grow comfortable, then strike when they least expect it.”
"Regardless, sir, we would still need a date or a time frame." Evander said.
"I knew you would ask that, so let me say we need to wait for three weeks at least, and then maybe then we can strike," he replied to Evander as his eyes wandered. He was thinking of something.
Evander clicked his tongue in disagreement, but the man showed no form of anger nor disgust to his nature.
"I do know why you are like this..." He said as he looked at his wine glass.
"The auction for these things starts in 3 weeks, and by the end of this week, we should be gathering them and sending them for delivery, or else we could potentially lose trust and, most especially, a lot of money, which, like you know, will put us in danger." He added, his restless worries finally giving out as he sat in worry.
From the looks off his face, he understood Evander.
I could feel Sabastian’s influence in the way this man spoke—calculated, strategic. Yet there was an underlying urgency in his words, a subtle warning not to underestimate the orchestrator’s cunning.
“What about the replicas?” I asked. “If we can identify who supplied them, maybe we can trace it back to the source.”
The man’s expression shifted, impressed by my observation. “A sharp mind,” he said, nodding. “Yes, that’s a viable lead. Start with the materials—examine the fakes closely. They’ll tell you more than you think.”
The room fell silent for a moment as we absorbed the information. I glanced at Evander, whose jaw was tight with determination.
“Thank you,” he said finally, rising from his seat. “We’ll take it from here.”
The man nodded, standing as well. “Remember—discretion. The orchestrator is likely someone closer than you think.”
As the conversation wrapped up, I felt the weight of the situation settle over me. Evander and the man continued talking, but I needed a moment to clear my head. Excusing myself, I stepped outside, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the tension indoors.
The field stretched out before me, vast and peaceful. Horses galloped freely, their movements graceful and unburdened. I walked along the fence, watching them, my thoughts tangled in the mystery of the stolen cargo.
Who could have orchestrated such a flawless plan? And why? Sebastian had enemies, sure, but this felt personal—calculated in a way that suggested someone with intimate knowledge of his operations.
I rested my hands on the wooden fence, my gaze following a chestnut horse as it ran. The rhythm of its hooves was soothing, grounding me in the present. But the questions in my mind refused to quiet.
“Lost in thought?” Evander’s voice pulled me from my reverie.
I turned to see him approaching, his usual smirk softening as he took in my contemplative expression.
“Just trying to make sense of it all,” I admitted. “It’s like every answer leads to more questions.”
“That’s how it always is with these things,” he said, leaning against the fence beside me. “But don’t let it consume you. We’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, grateful for his reassurance. Together, we watched the horses for a while, the silence between us comfortable.
As we returned to the mansion, I couldn’t shake the man’s parting words: The orchestrator is likely someone closer than you think.
It was a chilling thought, one that lingered in my mind as we prepared to lead.
When we stepped outside, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting the field in golden light. The man saw us off with a polite nod, his demeanor as calm and composed as ever.
“Keep me updated,” he said to Evander, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“We will,” Evander replied, his expression unreadable.
I slid into the driver’s seat of the Porsche, my mind still buzzing with everything we’d learned. As I started the engine and steered us back onto the road, I couldn’t help but glance at Evander.
“Do you think he’s right?” I asked. “That the orchestrator is someone close to us?”
Evander’s jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t rule it out. In this world, trust is a luxury we can’t afford.”
His words hung heavy in the air as we drove back toward the compound. My grip on the wheel tightened. If the orchestrator was someone within our circle, it meant the betrayal was deeper than we’d anticipated—and that finding the truth would come at a cost.
As we pulled into the compound, the familiar sight of Sabastian’s mansion came into view. The answers we sought felt farther away than ever, but one thing was certain: this was only the beginning of a much larger game.
And I wasn’t sure if we were ready to play.