Kezia arched a single brow, her hand stroking Zivko’s slate-grey fur where he lay draped across her knees, his slow rumbling purr vibrating through the cushions. Tomas, however, nearly dropped his ledger. His fingers trembled against the calfskin binding. “One hour? But… a warrant? For what, exactly?”
“An audit,” Jaro clarified, his voice still low, but with an underlying steel that belied its quietude. “Regarding the ‘unsolicited investment’ from the Hrubis syndicate.” His gaze flickered to the untouched tea service, then to Kezia’s serene face. The bergamot steeped undisturbed, the delicate porcelain cups gleaming. Jaro had a sudden urge to polish them again.
Kezia sighed, a whisper of a sound. “How dreadfully uncivilized. They couldn’t simply send a note?” She shifted slightly, just enough for Zivko to readjust his weight, settling more comfortably. “Jaro, darling, do fetch the pink purchase folder from my dressing table. The one with the floral embroidery. And the sapphire box from the hidden compartment in the wardrobe. The key is in the third drawer of the vanity, behind the pot of rosewater cream.”
Jaro nodded, a sharp, almost military movement. He was already halfway to the door. “Immediately, Kezia.”
As Jaro disappeared, Tomas wrung his hands. “Kezia, what are you planning? We have ten million in your private ledger! They’ll see it. They’ll seize everything. This isn’t a small matter, this is—this is federal!”
Kezia waved a dismissive hand, keeping her eyelids heavy. “Such dramatics, Tomas. It is an inconvenience. One moment, they demand their pound of flesh. The next, they find it has already been digested.”
Fifty-eight minutes later, the air outside Kolar Manor vibrated with a sudden, violent thud. The massive oak front doors, meticulously carved with grapevines and cherubs, groaned under a brutal impact. A splintering crack echoed through the grand foyer, followed by a series of frantic shouts. Kezia, still languidly reclined on her chaise lounge, didn’t even twitch. Zivko lifted his head, a single ear swiveling towards the commotion, then decided it wasn't worth the effort and lowered it back down onto Kezia’s silken thigh.
“Move, move, move!” a gruff voice barked. Heavy boots pounded across the polished marble floor of the foyer, a discordant rhythm of authority. Then, with a comical lack of grace, the pounding ceased, replaced by a symphony of gasps, grunts, and a resounding, sickening *thwack* as something heavy collided with the floor. A muffled curse followed, distinctly unprofessional. A moment later, the distinct, slick sound of multiple individuals struggling to regain their footing on a surface that was clearly not cooperating.
Jaro, who had been standing impassively by the drawing-room entrance, a silver tray laden with delicate chervil canapés hovering in one hand, did not move a muscle. His gaze remained fixed on the entryway, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He knew the exact, treacherous gloss of his hand-waxed floors. He had spent hours on them that morning, ensuring Kezia's passage would be seamless.
Three figures, dressed in severe dark suits, finally stumbled into the drawing-room. The lead official, a lean man with a perpetually sour mouth and an enameled ministry badge stamped ‘Vilem Horak,’ gingerly rubbed his tailbone. One of his subordinates, a younger man, was still attempting to untangle his foot from his partner’s leg, both of them having landed in a tangled heap. Dust motes danced in the afternoon light, disturbed by their chaotic entry.
“Kolar,” Horak bit out, ignoring his struggling colleagues. His eyes, sharp and cold, immediately landed on Kezia, then swept across the room. He saw the opulent chaise, the lounging cat, the pristine surfaces, the untouched tea. He saw Jaro, standing like a sentinel, holding a tray of appetizers with an alarming steadiness.
“Officer Horak,” Jaro replied, his voice smooth as polished stone. “Welcome to Kolar Manor. Perhaps you would prefer to remove your outdoor footwear? The floors, you see, are quite—”
“We carry an official audit warrant,” Horak interrupted, voice raspy with irritation. “We have cause to believe this household participates in financial fraud orchestrated by the Hrubis syndicate. Specifically, we seek ten million transferred into Mrs. Kolar’s balances last week.”
Kezia finally opened her eyes, fixing them on Horak with an expression of mild annoyance. “Ten million? Oh, *that* sum. So dreadfully gauche of them to simply deposit it.” She gestured vaguely towards Jaro with a languid hand. “Jaro, darling, the vouchers, if you please. Our visitors appear… curious.”
Jaro stepped forward, placing the silver tray on a small side table before presenting a slender pink folder to Horak. The inspector snatched it, flipping it open with an aggressive rustle of paper. Horak blinked as he surveyed the contents: an organized stack of slips, each labeled with dates and descriptions, bound by a thin silk ribbon.
“A… diamond choker?” Horak muttered, reading aloud from the topmost slip. “‘The Serpent’s Embrace,’ eighty-seven thousand. From the House of Volkov. And… a velvet divan cushion for an animal. Custom-sewn, goose down, twelve thousand. From the Imperial Pet Atelier. What in the blazes is this?”
Kezia sighed. “It is a comprehensive tally of expenditure, sir. That unsightly wire Hrubis dumped into my vaults? I spent it. Every brass centime. On goods I genuinely desired. I harbor no interest in their tawdry ‘Global-Tech’ scheme, nor their silicon toys, nor their investment frauds. My sole concern, as you see, is domestic comfort and the well-being of my magnificent Zivko.” She paused, a glint in her eye. “The necklace, by the way, arrived yesterday. The cushion is surprisingly difficult to source in the correct shade of Imperial Purple.”
Horak thumbed through the remaining proofs of purchase, his mouth twisting in bewilderment. There were invoices for bespoke silk chemises, an entire collection of rare vintage brooches, a solid gold feeder for Zivko, a subscription to a Parisian fashion gazette, and an absurdly expensive, custom-made chaise lounge just like the one Kezia was currently occupying, but in a slightly different shade of emerald green. The bottom-line total, itemized down to the final copper, equaled the ten-million-crown transfer.
“This… this is entirely authentic,” Tomas interjected, regaining his footing. “Every purchase cleared reputable regional vendors. The funds were paid straight to these suppliers. There are no rerouted wires to foreign havens, no ghost entities, nothing indicating… anything beyond brazen vanity spending.”
Horak slammed the folder shut, his face a mask of frustration. He looked from the receipts to Kezia, then to Jaro, who had picked up a stray crumb from the floor with a spotless white napkin, his gaze daring anyone to question his wife’s purchases. He was practically radiating lethal protectiveness. Horak ran a hand through his hair, defeated. “The money trail ends here. It’s… irrefutable. We can’t connect you directly to the syndicate’s fraud through these funds.”
Kezia offered a small, cool smile. “How very astute of you, sir.”
“However,” Horak continued, voice hardening, “Osian Hrubis actively implicates your company, Kolar Canning, in his operation. He claims your cargo tallies prove ‘Veridian Holdings’ acted as a legitimate partner in his freight network, funneling capital overseas. He wants you under indictment with him, Mr. Kolar. And by extension, your wife.” He met Jaro’s cold gaze. “We believe you are both still prime targets for his fall. He will sacrifice anyone to save himself.”
Jaro’s posture grew rigid. “Our freight logs are clean. They show no dealings with any Hrubis fronts, least of all ‘Veridian Holdings’.”
“Perhaps,” Horak conceded, though his tone was laced with doubt. “But the Hrubis family has considerable influence. If they present even a forged document, it will tie your hands in court for months, years even. We need to move quickly to expose Osian Hrubis Sr.’s lies.” He paused, his gaze flicking between Kezia’s serene face and Jaro’s unyielding one. “Here is our offer. Deliver your *original* dock records—every sheet from the last three months—to my office by midnight. We will cross-reference them with the Hrubis’s claimed records. If your logs demonstrate Hrubis Sr. fabricated this enterprise with Kolar Canning, we will break his case open and clear your name. If you refuse, or if the ledgers show even the faintest association with ‘Veridian Holdings’ or any Hrubis front, we return. And the next warrant will be for your arrest.”