Chapter 85

The distance from the annex to the main gate of the mansion was far enough to require a car. It took at least twenty minutes of leisurely walking before the inspector's figure appeared beyond the iron bars of the main gate.

The inspector was pacing nervously in front of the parked sedan, his hands behind his back. The lieutenant's rank insignia on his shoulder gleamed.

"Open the gate immediately."

Leon ordered the gatekeeper and gave a perfunctory salute. The inspector, who had been glaring at him with narrowed eyes, reluctantly returned the salute, and Leon lowered his hand.

The inspector didn't look in a good mood, probably from standing in the scorching sun for a long time. Of course, Leon didn't care about the mood of an uninvited guest.

"I don't recall any prior appointment, but welcome nonetheless."

He extended his hand with a smile, his eyes crinkling.

"The party starts at 6 PM, but you've arrived a bit early."

Leon pretended to check his wristwatch. It was just past 11 AM.

"By the way, I don't remember sending out any party invitations... Do you know my mother?"

"Does a captain see me as a casual visitor?"

The middle-aged man glared at Leon, who was acting nonchalantly. His eyes were so wide that the whites were visible.

What a stubborn man.

Bribery or coercion would be an admission of weakness, so he had no intention of using them. He planned to divert the inspector's attention away from the annex to the main house, deal with him appropriately, and send him off, but it didn't seem like that would work.

"I want to see that famous interrogation room of yours."

The inspector bluntly stated the purpose of his visit. It seemed he had decided to apply pressure head-on instead of behind the scenes.

"You're too late. The interrogation room has already been closed. This is now just the Winston family's annex."

"An annex..."

The inspector twisted his lips into a smile.

"If there are military personnel on duty, isn't it a military facility?"

The inspector's piercing gaze swept over Leon and the soldiers lined up behind him.

"Well, I have a different opinion. Since we can't agree, perhaps we should ask the commander first."

"I already have the answer."

The inspector smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, as he pulled something out of his jacket.

[As part of the inspection, we will thoroughly check all military facilities, and we request your full cooperation...]

The inspector smiled mockingly as Leon read the letter, which the commander had hastily written.

"Commander Davenport agrees with me."

Leon returned the same smile.

Will he still agree tomorrow?

Creak. The heavy gate opened with an irritating metallic sound. The interrogation room, like the corridor, was silent. Everyone's gaze turned to the dark room, and the tension tightened like a bowstring.

Leon opened the door wide, stepped aside, and gestured with his hand, inviting the inspector to look around.

However, the inspector stood with his hands behind his back, glaring at Leon's smiling face. His puffed-up expression and sagging facial skin made him resemble a bulldog.

"Turn on the lights."

At the bulldog's command, Leon signaled the soldier standing in the corridor. Click. The room lit up as the switch was flipped.

The inspector, standing in the doorway, scanned the room with his eyes. His dissatisfaction was likely due to the absence of people.

He's looking for signs of people now.

As expected, the inspector stepped inside. Leon stood in the corridor, watching the farce. The man headed straight for the bed and rummaged through the neatly made bedding.

He must be looking for hair.

But he won't find anything. He had instructed the maid to clean while the woman was in the office.

Failing to find any signs of people on the bed, the inspector ordered his subordinates to search the room thoroughly. He seemed to think the woman was hidden somewhere, instructing them to open all storage cabinets large enough for a person. He even checked the bathroom and tapped on the walls.

It was a ridiculous farce.

The woman was tied up in the second-floor office. The only evidence that she had been confined here was the contraceptive device inside her.

Sure enough, luck was on his side.

The inspector, finding no clothes or signs of torture, noticed something else.

"There's no dust."

The man held his finger, which he had wiped against the wall, in front of Leon. The finger was clean.

"No dust in a closed room?"

"Whether it's closed or not, the day dust is found in the Winston annex is the day the housekeeper is fired."

Leon added calmly.

"By the way, you seem to be looking for something, not just inspecting."

The inspector ignored his comment and abruptly opened a drawer next to the door. The man smiled with satisfaction as he opened a fancy box inside.

"Is this yours?"

The inspector held up a brown stocking, asking with a sarcastic tone. Leon didn't bother to suppress his laughter.

"I'm a man, so I have a wall, but I'm not into that kind of thing."

"Then whose is it?"

Leon's face contorted as if he had heard a suggestion to eat the stocking.

"To wear? I use it for wrapping. It's tough, so it's good as a rope. For tying limbs or strangling. Since you've come all the way to the interrogation room, would you like a demonstration from one of my officers?"

Smiling, he made the offer, and the inspector glared at him, showing the whites of his eyes.

His eyes were full of anger and, at first glance, seemed friendly but, upon closer inspection, were filled with mockery.

The tension in the air intensified as the two men locked eyes.

The bulldog seemed to be growling, and the inspector, who had been glaring as if ready to tear Leon's throat out, suddenly walked past him into the corridor.

I thought he found a bone.

Leon's gaze shifted from the inspector, who started searching the corridor, to the stocking he had thrown into the drawer.

How dirty.

The thought of another man's hands touching the stocking that would wrap around the woman's thighs was revolting.

"Throw it away."

He ordered the corporal holding the doorknob and stepped into the corridor. The bulldog and his men were searching the laundry chute.

"If you tell me what you're looking for, I can help."

Leon, watching from a distance, mocked him calmly. Suddenly, the inspector turned to him, his eyes flashing.

"I want to see the captain's office."

'Inspector?'

Grace, standing alone in the office, recalled the words she had heard before Winston left.

'Could he be here for me?'

But she immediately dismissed the thought with a sigh. What were the chances?

Clank. Grace, who had been looking out the window, lowered her gaze to her ankle, where the chain was making noise. The man had tied the shackle on her ankle to the leg of the desk chair.

Tying her to a chair that could move freely.

It seemed incredibly sloppy, but after some thought, she couldn't help but curse the man's deviousness.

With the wheels on the chair, she couldn't remove the shackle without breaking it, and if she did, the soldiers guarding outside would hear the noise and rush in.

What about escaping through the window?

Grace looked down at her ankle again. She didn't want to fall from the second floor and break her neck.

That bastard, of course.

Giving up on escaping, Grace sighed again as she rummaged through the desk. Anything she stole here would be taken away with her clothes as soon as she returned to the interrogation room.

Grace decided to give up on stealing Winston's things and focus on retrieving her own. Her face twisted as she continued searching the desk. The buttons torn from her blouse were neatly displayed in a luxurious black cigar box.

"Madman. Do you think these are trophies?"

Grace carefully picked up the small buttons, thinking of using the frayed thread to mend her clothes, when she suddenly stopped.

A small wooden box in the corner of the cigar box caught her eye.

It was a crude and plain object, out of place on Winston's desk, which always held only the finest items. Why did it seem familiar?

She had never seen this item when she worked as a maid here...

Her intuition whispered to open it. Grace reached for the box.

"Campbell, call a maid to prepare tea."

Just as she was about to pick it up, she heard Winston's voice from outside the door. It was louder than usual, as if warning her not to do something he knew she was about to do.

Thud, roll.

A button fell from her hand as she hurriedly closed the cigar box and rolled across the desk. There was no time to pick it up. As the doorknob turned, Grace crouched down.

"We don't need tea."

As soon as she hid under the desk, the door opened, and the voices became clearer. It was a man she didn't recognize. Grace, knowing he couldn't see her under the desk, still pulled her blouse together and curled up.

"I'm not that idle to sit and chat with the captain over tea..."

Clank. The chain around her neck made a noise, and the man's voice stopped.