Chapter 10
Clint Westfield entered the interrogation room, his wrinkled face tight with irritation.
Upon seeing Ashmia already seated and waiting, the creases on his face deepened.
Creak—
He dragged over a metal chair and sat down. Out of habit, he reached into his pocket to take out a cigarette, but paused and glanced at Ashmia, then put it away again.
“Go ahead and smoke. I don’t mind,” Ashmia said boldly.
Clint hesitated at her audacity but eventually placed the cigarette on the table and opened his mouth.
“So, little lady, I hear you wanted to see me?”
In an interrogation room, no less.
His gruff voice made it clear he found the situation troublesome.
Maybe I should just light it up, he thought. Maybe the smoke would drive her away and end this bothersome meeting faster.
Just as he pulled out a cigarette, Ashmia spoke up.
“Mind sharing one with me?”
Clint frowned.
“Minors aren’t allowed.”
“Oh, come on. There are no bugs or cameras in this room.”
Clint’s hand froze.
When he’d first heard that a young girl wanted to see him in an interrogation room, he’d thought it was some kind of prank.
And Room 4, of all places.
Once the blinds on the window were drawn, no sound or sight could pass through—earning it the nickname “the isolation room.”
“Little lady—or should I call you the youngest daughter of Kalashniel?”
“Neither sounds particularly flattering. Use whichever you prefer.”
Ashmia grinned as she removed her sunglasses.
“A kid like you shouldn’t know about this kind of thing. Who taught you all this?”
The words “You did” rose to her throat but she swallowed them back.
“No time for that. I’m here to give you some information.”
“Information?”
Was she seriously about to whistleblow on the Kalashniel family?
“Large-scale marijuana smuggling and trafficking. Plus a list of people involved in extortion, threats, and racketeering against rival merchant groups.”
Clint sighed, his laugh laced with disbelief.
“So it’s just tail-chopping again. Catching petty offenders that don’t matter. And what you just listed sounds like standard mafia fare.”
“That was one of Andy Bolton’s works, wasn’t it? The police were looking in all the wrong places—as always,” Ashmia said, deliberately using the past tense.
Clint forgot to light his cigarette, waiting for her next words.
“We never dealt in marijuana. I don’t know about ‘Leon’ or ‘Veros’, but among the high nobles at least, the source of the marijuana is not the mafia.”
“Then who?”
Instead of answering, Ashmia pulled a folded paper from her coat.
“What’s that?”
“Are you ready to make a deal with me?”
She grinned as she asked.
“A deal?”
She placed the paper on the table and slid it toward the still-doubtful Clint.
“It’s a list of families and merchant groups responsible for over 90% of marijuana distribution in the capital.”
At her urging, Clint reluctantly unfolded the paper—and the more he read, the wider his eyes became.
“…Where did you get this, kid?”
“Is that a joke? I can’t tell you that.”
“Then how am I supposed to believe any of this?”
“Try raiding just one of the groups on that list under any pretext. You’ll find out soon enough I’m not lying.”
“You’re kidding. None of these are easy targets. Even the lowest titled groups are part of the Pendragon network.”
“Did you actually check? Are you sure every one of them is really connected to Pendragon?”
Clint didn’t answer.
“More than half of them are just leeches who exchanged pleasantries once and now pretend they’re part of the network. It’ll actually be easier to get evidence from them—they won’t even be careful.”
“Then the barons, fine—but what about the viscounts and earls on here…?”
“Yeah. The order on that list isn’t random. The top half are the frauds pretending to be Pendragon’s men.”
“And the bottom names?”
“The real Pendragon affiliates. But you won’t need to go that far. Start at the top and the real Pendragon guys will clean house on their own.”
If things got serious, even Pendragon wouldn’t want unnecessary heat on themselves.
“So don’t worry about stepping on their toes.”
“This… all of this is Andy Bolton’s doing?”
“Who else? He became a cop just to do this sort of crap.”
Clint squinted at her.
Not only were the families and companies listed, but even the locations of marijuana stashes were detailed.
And the source? The youngest daughter of the Kalashniel family.
Too elaborate to be a prank.
However—
“Even if what you’re saying is true, I can’t get a search warrant with just this.”
“I know. That’s why—”
Ashmia leaned forward.
“Request support from the Imperial Guard.”
Click—
Clint had just lit his cigarette, but his hand froze again.
The Imperial Guard (IG).
They had their own corruption problems under Commander Andrei Vaklanov, but certain cases gave them independent investigative authority. Narcotics possession and control was one of them.
But the name came so far out of left field that Clint was dumbfounded.
“What did you just say…?”
“If the aristocracy is weakened, the Imperial Cabinet would welcome it with open arms. And if the target is Pendragon? Even better. With solid evidence, Andrei will jump at the chance to take credit.”
Clint instinctively looked around the interrogation room.
Ashmia’s words had shaken him—despite there being no bugs or cameras in Room 4.
“Detective Westfield,” Ashmia said with a smile, noticing his tension.
“We’re not aiming for a dragon’s heart. Just chopping off one of the hydra’s heads. No need to be so nervous.”
“…Hmph.”
Clint cleared his throat, embarrassed.
“If the nobles keep gaining power, it’ll be a nightmare not just for the Imperial Cabinet and the police—but even for us mafias.”
He stared into Ashmia’s golden eyes, quietly smoking.
“So we have to suppress it before it gets worse. It’s not hard. All you need to do is tap a well-arranged domino. The rest will fall on its own. Once Andrei takes credit, Commissioner Dmitri will foam at the mouth trying to keep up. He’ll churn out search warrants like a printing press.”
“…And what do you get out of this?”
Ashmia grinned at the sharp question.
“A just society and a stepping stone for reform?”
“You mafias saying that gives me chills.”
“Honored to be recognized as mafia, Detective.”
“You’re trying to use the police and the palace to cut down the nobles.”
“Doesn’t ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ sound more pleasant?”
“…You’re not wearing a wire or anything, are you?”
“If you’re suspicious, search me now. Or should I just strip right here?”
“God, what a horrible thing to say. No, forget I said anything.”
Click—
Lighting another cigarette to replace the one burned out without a puff, Clint grimaced.
He hated cigarettes—but smoked them constantly out of sheer habit.
“Little lady, if the Imperial Guard moves and finds nothing, this won’t end with a simple ‘just kidding.’ You know that, right?”
“Of course. If that happens, I’ll turn myself in. Arrest me or whatever you want.”
If things went wrong, this wouldn’t stop with Clint or Ashmia.
Multiple heads would roll—including Clint’s—and the Imperial Cabinet could be shaken to its core. Pendragon might even retaliate.
But if what this girl said is true—
It would be the strongest warning yet that noble crimes would no longer be tolerated.
It would be a chance to rein in their bloated power—especially Pendragon’s.
High risk, high return.
Which made it all the harder to walk away.
But more than anything—
“This sounds like fun.”
Clint grinned for the first time in a long while and rolled the dice over the gameboard that this seventeen-year-old girl had laid out.
According to Mikhail Roje, Clint Westfield may not have been a “good shooter,” but he was undoubtedly an exceptional cop.
So much so that even though he was a Normal, people joked that “Clint Westfield’s ability is investigation.”
But perhaps that very excellence became his downfall—because not long before his retirement, Clint was killed in an attack by an unknown assailant.
The perpetrators feared the release of the “data” Clint had compiled over his career.
“And I suppose this information doesn’t come for free?”
“Of course not. First, a reinvestigation into the assassination attempt Andy Bolton buried—and I want access to the findings. Also—”
Ashmia handed him another sheet of paper.
“Please investigate this person for me.”
