Catherine's frustration was a brief, cold thing, like the glint of a knife exposed to the moonlight.
Her plan, so meticulously elaborated, had shattered against the rock of her enemy's machinations. It was to be expected; after all, The Rook's was an empire, so of course his subordinates would be competent.
She had played a subtle game of chess, and the enemy had simply overturned the board.
She thought she had flipped the board with a snap of her fingers, to adopt another point of view, but essentially, the enemy still held the initiative.
It was a lesson.
A precious lesson.
Trying to unravel the secrets of an entity like The Rook's organization one thread at a time was a fool's game. It was too slow, too reactive. She could not be content with following his tracks. She had to force him to move.
Even if he made no mistakes, his entourage would always make a move and react to her.
Her gaze fell upon the large map of the city, no longer on the dark alleys of the Rook's Nest, but on the economic heart: the port, the warehouses, the grand commercial avenues.
The Rook's empire was not just a network of secrets and fear; it was a financial machine. And machines had pressure points.
To get the spider out, you had to set the forest on fire. Her plan took shape, no longer based on the subtlety of espionage, but on the arrogance of open warfare, waged by proxy.
She had the perfect weapon for it: an ambitious and vain magistrate who believed himself to be the paragon of justice in the city.
That evening, when Valerius joined her in the library, he found her in a state of fierce concentration. She stood before the map, her fingers tracing the trade routes that led to the docks.
The performance of the fragile and tormented Oracle was over. Tonight, she would be the Pythia, the prophetess of war and fire.
"Magistrate," she said without turning, her voice vibrating with a new authority.
"The echoes I have heard, the pain of the spirit I have touched… those were merely symptoms. I have followed the threads to their source. I have seen the sick heart of this city."
Valerius, intrigued, approached.
"And what did you see, my Oracle?"
"It is not a man we are fighting. Not only," she said, turning to him, her eyes shining with a dark and intense light.
"It is a flow. A river of corrupt gold that irrigates the foundations of this city. And I have found its source."
Her finger landed firmly on the largest warehouse complex in the port.
"The Eastern Sail Trading Company."
Valerius frowned.
"The Eastern Sail? It is one of the largest trading houses in the city. Respected. Powerful. It is run by a consortium of merchants…"
"Merchants who are nothing but facades," Catherine cut in.
"Puppets. Behind them, in the shadows, is the same power that trapped the old man Park. The same corruption that threatens you. It is their war chest, the heart that pumps poisoned blood into the city's veins. Strike the heart, and the beast will bleed."
She saw the doubt in his eyes.
It was an enormous accusation, an attack on a powerful institution that could have disastrous political repercussions. He was ambitious, but not suicidal. She had to convince him, to forge his resolve in a fire she would control.
She approached him, placing her hands on his chest.
"You are a great man, Valerius. But even great men are afraid. I feel it. You are afraid of this shadow."
She rose onto her tiptoes, her lips brushing against his.
"Let me give you the strength to no longer be afraid."
She led him to the large sofa, and what followed was an act of forging. She was not seducing him for pleasure or to obtain a concession.
She was reforging him.
She used sex as an alchemist uses fire, to melt down his doubts and his caution and reshape them into the arrogance of a crusader.
Their bodies joined with a fierce urgency that she dictated.
She was insatiable, demanding, pushing him to his very limits. Every kiss was an affirmation, every caress, an order.
She made him cry out her name, not like a lover, but like a faithful man crying out the name of his goddess in the ecstasy of faith.
She made him feel that he was not just a man taking a woman, but a chosen one absorbing a divine power, her power.
"They think you are a politician," she panted against his mouth, her hips moving in a hypnotic, domineering rhythm.
"Show them you are a king. A king who redistributes wealth."
She felt his defenses crumble, his ego inflated by her words and her body.
He was no longer a cautious magistrate. He was her champion, her sword. She led him to an orgasm so violent it sent him into spasms, his mind emptied of everything but the sensation of her and the divine mission she had just entrusted to him.
In the quiet aftermath, as he lay breathless, she leaned over him, her voice a whisper of venom and honey.
"Strike them, my lord. Strike them with all the fury of the law. Launch an audit. Freeze their assets. Interrogate their captains. Show this city who the true master is. Prove to them that the shadows cannot hide from your light. That all wealth must be under your control!"
He looked at her, his eyes shining with a new flame. Fear had vanished, replaced by a fanatic determination.
She had broken him and rebuilt him in her image.
"I will do it," he said in a hoarse voice.
"I will unleash hell on them."
He smiled in his euphoria.
"No corruption will be tolerated unless I'm a part of it. This is my kingdom." His orgasm was making him ramble.
The next day, the plan was put into execution.
Valerius, acting with a speed and brutality that surprised even his closest advisors, launched a massive investigation for tax fraud and illicit activities against the Eastern Sail Trading Company. Dozens of the Magistrate's guards descended upon their offices and warehouses, seizing ledgers, interrogating employees.
The news spread through the city like a shockwave. It was a thunderclap in the hushed world of commerce and politics.
Catherine watched it all from the window of her library.
She had given up on subtlety.
She had abandoned discretion. She could not find her father in the shadows, so she would force the shadows themselves to recoil under a light so intense that he would have nowhere to hide.
She smiled, a thin, joyless smile.
She had just declared war, not on a man, but on an empire. But in doing so, Valerius was becoming more and more visible; she no longer felt safe.
She wondered what he was feeling, her father, The Rook, seeing the first stone of his kingdom tremble.
He would certainly do nothing; a man of his caliber had surely already foreseen this scenario, but he would have to react.
He would have to come out of his web to see which audacious fly dared to provoke the spider.
She thought of her own warning: to get the spider out, you have to set the forest on fire.
The first torch had just been lit.