In a private, sun-drenched parlor far from prying eyes, Baroness Augusta and Duke Philip were having tea. The atmosphere was one of quiet, confident conspiracy.
"The Royal Bank is not going to process the Ellington's loan?" Augusta repeated, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she processed the information Philip had just given her.
"That is correct," Philip said. "They said the official news of the rejection will break in about a week. I had one of my men look into it. It seems my dear brother, Eric, was the one who personally intervened to stop the loan process."
Augusta's smirk widened. "Perfect. So, they took the bait," she said, her voice a low purr of triumph. The failed loan had been her idea, a trap designed to be sure where the mole is coming from and it's just a matter of time before they get caught. "Now," she continued, her expression turning more serious, "we just need to find that mole."
