Inside the mansion, the children’s table was a chaotic mess of cake and juice. Leo Croft sat at the head, wiping frosting from his mouth with a linen napkin.
He checked his watch. 9:15 PM.
“I’m going to the library to get a book,” Leo told the nanny, Mrs. Gable. “I’ll be right back.”
“Quickly, Leo,” she nodded, distracted by the twins.
Leo slipped out of the ballroom, but he didn’t go to the library. He moved silently down the corridor to the West Wing, to the heavy oak door that had been Alistair Croft’s sanctuary.
The office was dark, smelling of leather and old scotch. Leo walked to the massive desk and sat in his grandfather’s chair. It was still too big for him, but he liked the way it felt.
He opened the bottom drawer, bypassing the files Leo had already memorized, and reached for a hidden compartment. Inside was a burner phone–an old flip model Alistair had used for his “private” dealings.
Leo powered it on. He typed a single text message to a number he had extracted from the Swiss flight logs weeks ago .
*Gate 4 is open.*
He hit send. A small, cold smile touched his lips. He wasn’t just watching the game anymore; he was moving the pieces.