Chapter 13
In truth, even before I asked for the ledgers, I had already been sure.
No—actually, even before Moretti was kicked out, I had guessed it.
There’s no way no one is skimming money.
The current Duke Cohen is the type of man who would sell the country or kill his nephew just for wealth and glory.
Under a man like that, no good officials could possibly gather.
Of course this villa would be crawling with people ready to commit corruption the moment they get the chance.
Besides, the villa was less strictly monitored than the main estate.
Here, all attention was focused on keeping Edmund locked up and abused.
No one had energy left to watch for servants’ embezzlement.
For these types of people, not stealing would probably seem like being a fool.
And I knew this sort of environment well.
The wretched orphanage I grew up in was exactly the same.
Because I understood it so well, I already knew their answers before I even questioned them.
They’d just shove all the blame onto Moretti and deny everything themselves.
And as expected, that’s exactly what they said.
But it didn’t matter.
After all, I didn’t sit quietly for a month only to strike now for no reason.
Smiling victoriously, I pulled a notebook from my pocket.
Inside was a list—the names of most of the staff involved in the embezzlement, including these two.
About ten days ago, a “partner” had given me this information.
The library smelled of dust and old paper, as always.
Cassia had been reading aloud as usual when suddenly she stopped.
“…?”
Behind the curtain, Edmund, who had been sitting by the window to listen to her lessons, stiffened in surprise.
He wasn’t even really hiding anymore—his feet stuck out visibly from under the curtain.
Why stop now?
It wasn’t the right timing to end the lesson.
Then Cassia’s voice called out:
“Come out.”
“…!”
The suddenness almost made Edmund fall right off the windowsill.
What? Why now?
Up until now, their lessons had continued by silent agreement.
Cassia, who couldn’t openly help him, and Edmund, who still couldn’t fully trust her.
It was a fragile arrangement—an unspoken pact.
If either side broke it, everything would end.
Is she breaking it first?
Edmund bit his lip.
It would make sense.
Cassia had only been giving and giving, never getting anything back.
It wouldn’t be strange if she decided to stop.
But even as he tried to reason it out, anxious fear rose in his throat.
Again Cassia urged him:
“Come out. I have something to say.”
“….”
Edmund agonized.
And then—the seeds of trust Cassia had been planting in him for weeks finally sprouted.
After nearly 20 days of hiding behind the curtain, Edmund timidly peeked out his head.
“…What is it.”
He hadn’t realized how hard it could be to just step out of hiding.
Even though they both already knew about each other’s presence, it felt as exposing as standing naked.
Unconsciously, his gaze dropped to the floor.
Tap, tap.
Light footsteps approached him.
When Edmund looked up in alarm, Cassia was already right in front of him.
She beamed brightly, sunlight pouring through the window behind her.
“…!”
For a second, Edmund had the ridiculous illusion that the light itself was shining from her.
“Finally, we see each other face-to-face in the library.”
“…So, does that make you feel like you’ve won?”
Edmund’s cheeks grew hot. He quickly looked away.
Then Cassia spoke unexpected words:
“Want to work with me on something?”
“What?”
He whipped his eyes back to her.
But her face was serious.
Not joking. Not teasing.
“There are termites eating away at the pillars of this villa. You know that, right?”
By now, Edmund was used to Cassia’s metaphors from her lectures. He understood immediately.
She means there are many people stealing money and supplies.
Of course he knew.
Even if everyone treated him like a ghost, he was still the young lord of House Cohen.
This was the house where he was born and raised.
“Look.”
Cassia grasped the frayed sleeve of his clothes.
Then pointed to his shoes—so old and ill-fitting that he had crushed the heels to wear them.
Her voice turned cold.
“Even the lowest servant here wears better shoes than you. None of them go around in clothes or shoes that don’t fit.”
Edmund burned with shame. He snapped in anger:
“I know! Do you think I don’t have eyes or a brain?! How much more do you plan to humiliate me?!”
Cassia blinked wide-eyed.
“Humiliation—that’s all you feel?”
“What?”
“Don’t you feel angry? Furious?”
“…!”
Edmund looked up, startled.
The bright, sunlit girl was gone.
Before him stood a cunning conspirator.
And her next words were impossible for him to refuse:
“Don’t you want to make the traitors pay, even just a little?”
Her voice was like the devil’s sweet whisper.
Yes—the “partner” who helped me with this was Edmund himself!
When he finally stepped out from behind the curtain, I almost cheered.
At last!
And when he nodded at my proposal, I wanted to jump for joy.
My proposal was simple:
“Give me information on those stealing from the villa’s budget. If you know ways to secure proof, tell me that too.”
“…And why would you think I’d know something like that?”
It was a fair question, but I was ready with an answer—one based on truth.
“I’ve only been here two months. But you were born and raised in this villa. You already know secret passages and hidden spots no one else does. You’ve naturally seen and heard far more than I ever could. Am I wrong?”
“….”
“If you really don’t know, fine. Things can just stay the same as now.”
I made sure to act as if I wasn’t desperate.
“…If there really is proof, what would you do with it?”
“I’ll take complete control of this villa.”
“You already have, haven’t you?”
“Not fully. You know that too. Even Moretti couldn’t touch those with real power.”
“…And if I help you, what do I get?”
“You get to vent your anger on the traitors. And you get back at least a part of what’s rightfully yours.”
I emphasized:
“From the rats that have been stealing from you.”
And Edmund accepted.
He told me who the true powers of the villa were, and how their corruption was woven together like a spider’s web.
Because I already suspected most of it, gathering proof wasn’t hard.
The reason I had made this offer was simple:
I knew Edmund could use the villa’s secret mechanisms to gather information.
In the original story, that was how he eventually managed to escape the villa.
So with his knowledge and my action, we could achieve better results, and sooner.
Perfect. Working together will also help build Edmund’s trust in me.
I filled pages with the information Edmund gave me.
Staring at it, Edmund suddenly asked:
“You trust me?”
“Yes. I do.”
I answered immediately.
He looked even more shaken by my quick reply.
His face said: How can you believe me so easily?
But he couldn’t bring himself to ask aloud.
Instead, I just glanced at his hands and said:
“Your wounds are healing well. The ointment worked, right?”
“…!”
Edmund flushed red again.
Why was he angry now? Did even the ointment offend him?
Before I could figure it out, he bolted from the library.
And now, thanks to that—
I stood boldly questioning Marsha and Paul.
The moment I recited the names of everyone involved in the embezzlement, their faces turned ashen.
Marsha and Paul stammered desperate denials:
“N-no! It’s a misunderstanding!”
“I would never do such a thing—!”
I smiled, waving my notebook.
“Why do you think I waited a whole month after Moretti was gone? To make it easier for you to steal more? No. I was buying time to collect evidence.”
“…!”
“Do you really think I’d say this without proof?”
And then I struck the final blow:
“I wonder—how will the Duke react when he learns his servants dared to deceive him and gnaw at his storehouses? Aren’t you curious?”
Just as expected, Paul’s eyes grew murderous.
Even knowing it would come, the glare of a grown man full of malice still made my body shiver in instinctive fear.
It was clear what he was thinking.
He believes killing me now would cover it up.
I couldn’t give him the chance.
So I declared firmly:
“If I don’t return on time, a message will fly straight to the Duke with everything I’ve written about this. Along with all the evidence I’ve gathered.”
“…!”
It was both a warning against trying anything—and my declaration of victory.
