My Bratty Wife
Chapter 210 - Two Hundred And Ten

Chapter 210: Chapter Two Hundred And Ten

The heavy velvet curtains in Lord Evan’s study were drawn against the fading afternoon light, casting the room in a warm, intimate glow provided by several strategically placed oil lamps.

Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with leather-bound volumes arranged with meticulous care. On the large mahogany desk, however, a semblance of order fought a losing battle against necessity. Maps were partially unrolled, stacks of documents tied with ribbon sat beside scattered notes, and an empty teacup rested near a silver letter opener.

Evan stood by the window, momentarily pulling back the edge of a curtain to peer into the darkening street below. He let the fabric fall back into place, turning as the study door opened softly. Brook entered, closing the door quietly behind him. He moved with his usual quiet efficiency, his dark attire immaculate, his face composed and unreadable. He stopped a respectful distance from the desk and bowed his head.

"My Lord," Brook said, his voice low and even.

Evan turned fully, his expression sharp and expectant. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. The successful framing of Duke Ryan was merely the first, albeit crucial, step. Now, the second target needed to be secured.

"Byron," Evan stated, less a question than a demand for information. "Have you managed to uncover anything useful? Anything at all on dear Byron?"

Brook met his master’s gaze steadily. "Nothing substantial, My Lord," he replied, his tone conveying professional regret rather than personal frustration. "I have made extensive inquiries, as you instructed. There is nothing tangible that could be readily used against him."

A slight frown creased Evan’s brow. He walked towards his desk, resting his fingertips lightly on its polished surface. "Nothing?" he echoed, a note of irritation entering his voice. "That seems... improbable. Are you certain you’ve looked in the right places?"

"I believe so, My Lord," Brook affirmed. "I started with his finances. They are impeccable. No unusual debts, no extravagant spending, no secret accounts discovered. His investments are sound, managed through reputable channels. His dealings with tenants on the small estate he manages are reportedly fair, even generous according to some. He commands a surprising amount of loyalty."

Evan considered this, drumming his fingers lightly on the desk. "Loyalty can be bought or coerced. What about his personal life? Vices? Gambling? Women?"

"None that I can uncover, My Lord," Brook continued methodically. "He keeps company with respectable scholars and merchants. He attends social events but is moderate in his habits. There are no whispers of gambling debts at the clubs he occasionally frequents. No jilted lovers threatening scandal, no clandestine affairs hinted at. His reputation is... remarkably clean. Even his years of travels appear free from any significant transgression."

Evan let out a short, frustrated sigh. He pushed away from the desk and began to pace slowly across the thick carpet. "Clean," he repeated, the word tasting like an obstacle. "It was far easier to weave a believable narrative around Ryan. His position, his known associates, the existing political tensions... there were threads to pull, shadows to deepen." He stopped pacing and looked directly at Brook. "I confess, I anticipated Byron being simpler. I assumed his lower rank, his proximity to Ryan, might have bred resentment or carelessness. A ’piece of cake,’ as the saying goes."

"It seems our Lord Byron is either remarkably clean or remarkably careful," He paused and thought to himself. "Carefulness can be a vulnerability in itself, I suppose. It suggests something to hide." He turned back sharply.

He resumed pacing, his mind clearly working. "But ’clean’ does not mean ’invulnerable’ right? Everyone has pressure points, Brook. Everyone has something they don’t want exposed." He stopped again. "Dig deeper. Go further back. Childhood rivalries? Disputes over inheritance, however minor? Any failed business ventures before his current stability? Talk to former household staff – someone must have seen something, heard something, felt slighted by him at some point. A disgruntled gardener, a dismissed maid... envy can be a powerful motivator for loose tongues. Find a crack, no matter how small."

Brook inclined his head slightly. "I will redouble my efforts, My Lord. I will explore these avenues."

Evan nodded, shifting his focus. The immediate frustration over Byron was momentarily shelved for a more pressing, strategic concern. "Good. Now, there is a far more dangerous loose end we need to tie up. Commander Thorne."

Brook’s posture stiffened slightly. He knew the name, of course.

"Commander Alistair Thorne," Evan continued, his voice dropping slightly, taking on a harder edge. "The King appointed him personally, remember? To head the official investigation squad into the murders. He was working closely with Ryan before... well, before all of the sudden he went missing."

Evan leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. "Thorne has a reputation. Thorough. Incorruptible. Not easily intimidated or bought. And most importantly, he vanished without a trace."

He pushed off the desk and began to pace slowly again, his mind working rapidly. "Why did he disappear, Brook? I haven’t tried to think about it before? Did Thorne find something in those early days of the investigation, something that didn’t fit the narrative I was building? Did he suspect manipulation?" Evan stopped pacing and locked eyes with Brook, the gravity of the situation clear in his gaze.

"The why is less important than the what, Brook. What does Thorne possess? He has the original investigation files. The initial reports, the witness statements gathered before anyone knew I was involved, the notes from the crime scenes. Evidence gathered impartially, before I could subtly guide things. Evidence that could completely contradict the case I built against Ryan. Evidence that could potentially point towards... well, towards the truth. The real murderer."

Evan let the implication hang in the air. "A single testimony from Thorne, backed by his official records, could unravel everything. Ryan’s conviction, my rising influence, the entire plan." He gestured emphatically. "He is the single greatest threat to our success."

"We don’t even know if he’s still in the city, My Lord," Brook pointed out quietly. "Even Duke Ryan has expressed confusion about the Commander’s absence before."

"Exactly," Evan snapped. "He could be anywhere. Hiding, gathering more evidence, trying to get word to someone outside my reach – perhaps even the King himself, through back channels. We cannot allow him to resurface." Evan’s eyes were cold, calculating. "When you find him, he needs to be... dealt with. Permanently. And whatever files or evidence he carries must be secured or destroyed. There can be no trace left of him or his investigation."

The order was chillingly clear. This wasn’t about framing or manipulation anymore; this was about elimination.

Brook’s face remained impassive, but his eyes showed he understood the deadly seriousness of the command. This was far more dangerous than forging letters. "I understand, My Lord," he said firmly. "All efforts will be redirected immediately. I will utilize our entire network. Thorne will be found."

"See that he is," Evan said, his tone leaving no room for failure. "Report back the instant you have anything. Anything at all."

Brook gave a final, sharp bow. "Yes, My Lord." He turned and left the study as silently as he had entered, closing the door softly behind him.