Saturday, Rain.
Kensington District, Morstan Estate.
London's rain always falls without warning.
Clearly, it had been sunny just half an hour ago, but now, lead-gray clouds had already paved the entire sky.
The fine, dense rain fell in a patter, shrouding the entire city in a damp chill.
Mary sat in her room, holding a cup of hot black tea in her hands.
The aroma of tea overflowed, and white mist floated slowly, blurring a patch of white onto the glass window.
The young girl was feeling a bit irritable at this moment.
This irritability did not stem from the incessant rain outside the window.
Rather, it came from the air pressure within the family over the past few days—pressure so oppressive it made one breathless.
Her father, Duke Morstan, had not shown his face at dinner for three consecutive days.
The door to the study was always tightly closed. From inside, the sound of lowered voices on phone calls could be heard from time to time, the tone always carrying suppressed anger and irritability.
The consumption rate of expensive cigars and whiskey was also faster than ever before.
Although not seeing that man wasn't exactly a bad thing for Mary,
the fact of 'not seeing that man for several days in a row' itself could hardly be considered a good thing.
The reason for this situation could be traced back to last Sunday.
That was the day The Times made Ethan Roy's rotten affairs public.
At first, Mary's view on the matter was one of schadenfreude, while her father, Duke Morstan, viewed it as something that didn't concern him.
Although the Morstan family had business dealings with the Roy family, the involvement wasn't deep; it hadn't reached the point where they were inextricably linked.
Even if something happened to the Roy family and Ethan Roy fell from power, they could cut ties at any time.
They only needed to cut off those cooperative projects in time and clarify their stance to stay out of this storm. If they were lucky, they might even be able to get a share of the spoils.
Unfortunately, both father and daughter had underestimated Mycroft.
That man, known as the [British Government], was far more ruthless in his reckoning than anyone had imagined.
Mycroft's liquidation wasn't a broad axe chopping down, but rather filled with a style of 'moistening things in silence.'
There was no direct suppression, nor was there public condemnation.
There were only some seemingly ordinary commercial audits, some shipping permits that were shelved, some loan conditions that suddenly became strict...
Boiling the frog in warm water.
By the time Duke Morstan truly realized something was wrong, that invisible giant hand was already choking the throat of the Morstan family.
And then, the Morstan family's capital reserves began to step closer and closer toward the danger line.
"Tsk..."
Mary frowned, and her hand holding the cup tightened involuntarily.
She wasn't irritable about the losses the family might face, because those things had nothing to do with her personally.
Although Mycroft appeared to be suppressing the Morstan family, he wouldn't truly let the Morstan family fall into a state of eternal damnation.
He needed such a behemoth to survive, or rather, Britain needed it.
After all, the jobs provided by the enterprises under the Morstan family name alone numbered in the thousands every year.
If it went bankrupt, those unemployed workers would definitely unite to set fire to Buckingham Palace.
Therefore, Mary had never been worried about these things.
She was worried about that man in the study.
Being alive and living comfortably were two different matters.
Heaven knows what he might do to cut his losses in time.
Just as she was thinking this, that man's voice suddenly rang out from outside the door.
"Mary."
Truly, speak of the devil.
The young girl thought to herself.
"I am here, Father."
Mary responded.
The man's voice was low, seemingly suppressing something, carrying a commanding tone that allowed for no objection.
"Change into decent clothes. In five minutes, come out with me."
"Where to...?"
"Lloyds Bank."
After saying this, he left straight away, leaving the young girl alone in the room, a trace of confusion flashing in her eyes.
Why go to the bank?
What could be done at the bank? Wasn't the loan request from the day before yesterday already rejected?
She couldn't figure it out...
The feeling of irritability surged into her heart once again.
But even so, Mary obediently put down the teacup in her hand and rose to walk toward the cloakroom.
Pulling open the huge cypress wardrobe, she saw it was filled with all kinds of gorgeous dresses, each one meant to be worn on a specific occasion.
Every single one was like a mask.
Mary's gaze swept over them one by one, finally landing on a black long dress.
There were no superfluous decorations or cuts; the high-collar design covered the girl's fair neck, and the long sleeves extended all the way to her wrists.
A decent garment, not too revealing, suitable for wearing in public places like a bank.
Five minutes later, Mary appeared in the foyer on time.
Duke Morstan was already waiting there.
After seeing Mary's attire, he didn't say anything, merely nodding faintly before turning to walk out the door.
Mary followed silently.
The carriage traveled through the curtain of rain; inside the cabin, there was a deathly silence.
Mary sat quietly, her gaze falling on her own hands, which were clad in white lace gloves.
"Father," she finally spoke, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Are we going to Lloyds Bank for a new investment project?"
"You will know when we get there." The Duke's voice sounded as steady as ever, as if the family crisis had never happened.
Thus, Mary tactfully shut her mouth and waited patiently.
The carriage stopped in front of the magnificent entrance of Lloyds Bank.
An attendant held an umbrella, escorting the two all the way into the lobby.
The dry and warm interior instantly isolated them from the damp cold of the outside world.
Duke Morstan walked to the front desk and said something to the receptionist. Subsequently, the other party picked up the landline at hand and dialed a number.
After a brief exchange, the receptionist put down the phone.
A few minutes later, a decently dressed man walked over, a shrewd and mercenary smile on his face.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Morstan, and Miss Morstan," he said with a smile.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tommy," Mary said softly.
"Duke Morstan, this way please. We have already prepared a private reception room for you. Regarding the matters you mentioned, we can discuss them in detail there."
"Mm." Duke Morstan responded faintly and began to walk.
As he passed by Mary, he didn't even look sideways, only speaking in a commanding tone:
"Mary, you wait for me here."
"Yes, Father."
Mary answered obediently, which suited her just fine.
The young girl watched the figures of her father and Mr. Tommy disappear at the end of the corridor.
That heavy oak door inlaid with brass closed quietly behind them, cutting off everything.
Mary found a velvet sofa against the wall and sat down, her posture elegant.
She didn't look at the gazes mixed with awe and curiosity that were cast her way due to her father's arrival.
She just sat quietly, enjoying the black tea brought by the waiter, while pondering the purpose of this trip.
What could be done at the bank?
Collateral, assets, or perhaps... the transfer of some trust.
Her father needed a huge sum of capital to fill the hole caused by Mycroft, and the bank was the only choice.
And she, dressed gorgeously with a decent attitude, represented that the family still possessed impeccable credit and decency.
Mary gently took a sip of the black tea.
The taste couldn't be called delicious, but it was better than nothing.
She began to cast her gaze elsewhere, observing the layout of the lobby, the security, or the passersby coming and going, attempting to kill time through this behavior.
Merchants in a hurry, noblewomen with worried faces, and a few smartly dressed young people...
Every person was like an opened book; their identity, purpose, and emotions were visible at a glance.
Mary's gaze swept slowly through the crowd, feeling a wave of boredom.
However, when her line of sight was about to graze past an ordinary service counter, she suddenly froze.
That was a back view.
A back view that couldn't be considered upright, appearing somewhat lazy due to a slight slouch.
He was wearing a khaki trench coat, completely out of place with the surrounding bank clients in their suits and leather shoes.
But that familiar silhouette, that standing posture that seemed absent-minded no matter the time, caused Mary's heartbeat to skip a beat without any warning.
She subconsciously sat up straight. Those azure eyes, which had originally appeared somewhat unfocused due to boredom, refocused at this moment, as if light were flickering within them.
If one keeps a thought constantly in mind, there will eventually be an echo.
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