Page 80 of Undercover Shadow
He waited as the display lowered from the ceiling. The technology felt incongruous in a room that had hosted war councils since the fifteenth century. The image that appeared on it showed four men at a charity gala, all smiling, all looking harmless. It had been taken recently, perhaps in the last few months.
“The Forgotten Sons,” Viper began, taking control of the briefing. “A name that would be pretentious if it weren’t so accurate. Four men united by accident of birth and consumed by resentment over what that accident denied them.”
She tapped her tablet, and the display shifted to show a complex diagram.
“Before I detail each member, you need to understand the scope of what they built. This wasn’t just four bitter men meeting to complain about their brothers. This was a sophisticated operation that took years to construct. Between them, they controlled access to seventeen properties. They had shipping routes through MacKenzie’s company that reached every major port in Europe. They had an art market worth forty million pounds annually through Dalgleish’s gallery, which provided both funding and money laundering. And through Ambrose, they had something even more valuable—invisibility. Thedoddering uncle no one took seriously, who could go anywhere, ask anything, and be dismissed as harmless.”
Con leaned forward, asking the same question I had. “How did you gather this magnitude of intel between last night and now?”
“I can answer that,” said Leila. “So can you, Con.”
“It’s true that Kestrel helped,” said Viper, surprising me with the admission. “As did every agent and operative I could round up from both MI6 and Unit 23.” She pointed at Gus. “But Orion deserves the most credit.”
He raised his head and looked directly at Leila. “The information was right in front of me. I just had no idea what it all meant. Not until last night.”
I’d known him almost all my life and had never seen the expression he held today. It was a combination of regret, sorrow, and guilt for not figuring it out sooner. Not that anyone would have been able to. Later, Con, Ash, and I would make sure he accepted that and let go of the responsibility he’d put on his own shoulders.
Two more photographs appeared. These were older. Typhon pointed at the one on the left, showing Ambrose, Dalgleish, MacKenzie, and MacLeod when they were younger. “This was taken at the Imperial Club,” he began. “From what we’ve been able to piece together, they’d known each other through various social circles.” He motioned to the second image. It was of the same four men, but a woman had joined them—Fallon Wallace.
“Chimera played the long game brilliantly,” said Viper. “By identifying men with grievances against the system, men who felt cheated by birthright, and she gave them what they’d always wanted—recognition, purpose, and the promise of revenge.”
The display changed to show Ambrose’s face—not from last night when madness had taken hold, but from a family photo taken at Ash’s twenty-first birthday celebration. He stood inthe background, smiling, holding a champagne glass, looking exactly like what we’d all believed him to be.
“Let’s start with Janus,” Viper continued as a more recent photo of him came on the screen. “Ambrose Ashcroft, age sixty-seven. Second son of the late Duke of Ashcroft. His older brother, George, inherited the title as well as all the family’s holdings with the exception of a trust fund worth two million pounds that had been set up for Ambrose. It had a modest annuity, enough to be comfortable by most standards, but a fraction of what primogeniture denied him.” When she paused, I spoke up.
“You said Wallace brought them together. So she was the driving force? Not Janus?”
“Perhaps in the beginning, but like the rest of us, she may have underestimated Ambrose.”
“In the hours before she died, Periscope said, ‘Janus thinks he controls Chimera. He’s wrong. That may be your only chance at survival.’” Ash turned to Gus. “Your mother said she saw Fallon and Ambrose arguing about something outside Ashcroft.”
Gus nodded. “Power struggle, maybe?”
“Based on some of the intel that is still coming in, I’d say that was likely the case,” said Typhon. He looked over at Sullivan. “My guess is that the argument was over your abduction. Fallon bringing you into the tunnels beneath Ashcroft had the potential to expose what was really happening down there.”
Ash’s eyes widened. “What was—or still is—happening down there? Have we found anything?”
Typhon looked at his mobile, then at Ash. “We think it served as a clearing house. Our team is still there, and what they’ve found looks a lot like what Tag discovered beneath Glenshadow.”
My eyes met Con’s. “Nothing below Blackmoor yet,” he said, answering my unasked question.
Viper cleared her throat. “Back to the briefing,” she said, giving Typhon a pointed look, which he scowled at.
The display shifted to show James Dalgleish. Crime scene photos from last night—his body on the castle floor, blood pooling beneath him.
“James Dalgleish,” Viper continued. “Age fifty-eight. Second son of the Duke of Moorheath. His older brother, Robert, inherited eleven estates across Scotland, an art collection valued at fifty million pounds, and a seat in the House of Lords that came with considerable political influence. James received aloanof five hundred thousand pounds to start his gallery. He built it into an enterprise worth a few million through legitimate sales, but it was never enough. He, like Ambrose, wanted what his brother had been given simply for being born first.”
“The gallery was the perfect cover,” Gus interjected, looking up from his laptop. “I’ve been tracking his transactions all night. He’d been moving black market art for years before hooking up with Ambrose. Once they connected, the money coming in grew exponentially. He wasn’t just laundering it—he was building a network. Every buyer, every seller, every corrupt customs official became an asset they could use.”
The display changed to show shipping manifests and financial records.
“Which brings us to Ian MacKenzie,” Viper said. A photo appeared of him at what looked like a corporate event, standing in the shadow of a man who was most likely his brother. “Age fifty-five. Second son of the Duke of Stormbridge. His brother, Donald, inherited the family shipping empire—MacKenzie Lines, worth approximately eight hundred million pounds with routes covering every major port from London to Singapore.”
“Ian was given a position as a ‘logistics coordinator’ in the family company,” Typhon said, the contempt clear in his voice. “Middle management in an empire that should have beenpartially his. His brother made him work for a salary in the company their father built. Every day, Ian had to take orders from men he’d gone to school with, men who knew exactly what he should have been versus what he’d become.”
“Humiliating,” I murmured, wondering if Cameron and Maggie felt as though I’d cheated them out of our collective birthright. While each had income-generating trusts valued in the millions, perhaps they resented my residency at Glenshadow as well as my control of the majority of our family holdings. I’d always seen it as a responsibility I was forced to take on as the oldest. However, looking at it from their point of view, maybe I had it all wrong.
As if she sensed my discomfort, Leila wrapped her arm through mine and leaned into me. “I love you,” she whispered, motioning to where Gus was speaking.
