The air in Frost's office was thick with tension as Pembroke finished recounting his involvement with The Whisperer's network. His words were halting, as if he feared someone might burst in at any moment and end his life before he finished. Blake sat across from him, taking notes while Frost leaned back in his chair, his cold gaze fixed on the now visibly shaken lord.
"So, that's all of it," Pembroke said, his voice wavering as he glanced nervously between them. "You have to understand, I had no choice. Once you're in, there's no getting out. The Whisperer... he knows everything."
Frost didn't respond immediately. He simply watched Pembroke, letting the silence stretch, knowing that fear was often the best tool for extracting more information. Pembroke's eyes darted around the room, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he waited for some sort of acknowledgment.
Blake shifted in his seat, sensing the lord's growing unease. "What we need from you," he began slowly, "is more than just names. We need connections. Who's working with who? How do they communicate?"
"I... I don't know everything," Pembroke stammered. "I'm just one cog in the machine. But I do know this—The Whisperer keeps his inner circle small. Only his most trusted people know how to reach him directly. The rest of us… we're just tools."
Blake frowned. "How do they communicate with you?"
"Notes, mostly," Pembroke said quickly. "Delivered by couriers. I've never met The Whisperer in person. I've only dealt with his lieutenants."
"And who are they?" Frost asked, his voice low and steady.
"There are three of them," Pembroke said, his voice trembling. "Alistair Kent, a banker with connections to half of London's financial elite. Margaret Lacey, an aristocrat known for her socialite gatherings, where deals are brokered in the shadows. And the last... well, you've already met him."
Frost's eyes narrowed. "Thorne."
Pembroke nodded weakly. "Yes, he's The Whisperer's enforcer. The man who handles the dirty work."
The mention of Thorne caused Blake to glance at Frost, who remained impassive. Thorne had been a ghost in their investigation for too long. Always out of reach, but always present. The revelation that he was more deeply involved than they'd initially believed only solidified the need to take him down.
"What about Kent and Lacey?" Blake asked. "Where can we find them?"
Pembroke hesitated, biting his lip. "Kent has a private office in the City of London. He operates under the guise of a legitimate banker, but his dealings with The Whisperer run deep. As for Lacey, she holds weekly gatherings at her estate. High society types, mostly. But there's always a back room where the real business happens."
Frost stood, finally breaking his silence. "We'll need a list of people who attend those meetings."
Pembroke swallowed hard and nodded. "I can give you that. But you'll need to be careful. If they find out I talked…"
"They won't," Frost said, his tone icy. "As long as you cooperate."
---
Later that evening, Frost and Blake sat in a quiet pub, their drinks untouched. The information from Pembroke had given them direction, but the stakes had never been higher. With Thorne still out there and The Whisperer pulling strings from the shadows, they were venturing deeper into dangerous territory.
"Do you think we can trust him?" Blake asked, breaking the silence. He was clearly still uneasy about relying on a man like Pembroke.
"For now," Frost replied, his gaze distant. "He's scared enough to cooperate. But if we're going to make our move, we need to be smart about it."
Blake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "So, where do we start? Kent or Lacey?"
"Kent," Frost said after a moment of thought. "We need the financial connections. If we can cut off The Whisperer's money, we'll weaken him."
"And what about Lacey?"
"She'll come next," Frost replied. "Once Kent is dealt with, we'll move on to her. But we need to be careful. The higher up we go, the more dangerous this gets."
Blake sighed. "This whole thing feels like we're walking through a minefield."
Frost's expression darkened. "That's exactly what it is."
---
The next morning, Frost and Blake stood outside Kent's private banking office. The building was nondescript, blending in with the countless other financial institutions that lined the streets of the City of London. But Frost knew that behind those plain walls, illicit deals were being made.
"We go in quietly," Frost said, adjusting his coat. "We don't want to spook him. If he catches wind that we're onto him, he'll disappear."
Blake nodded, checking the small revolver concealed beneath his jacket. "Got it."
They stepped inside the building, greeted by a polite receptionist who directed them toward Kent's office. As they walked down the hallway, Frost's mind raced with possibilities. They needed something solid on Kent—something they could use to bring him down and cut off The Whisperer's funding.
When they reached Kent's door, Frost knocked lightly. After a moment, the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with graying hair and a sharp suit. Alistair Kent was the picture of a successful banker, but Frost could see the calculating glint in his eyes.
"Gentlemen," Kent said smoothly, gesturing for them to enter. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Frost and Blake stepped inside, taking seats in the plush leather chairs in front of Kent's desk. Frost didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"We're here to talk about your connections," Frost said, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. "Specifically, your connections to The Whisperer."
Kent's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"We know who you are, Kent," Blake added, leaning forward slightly. "And we know what you're involved in. You can deny it all you want, but we have enough to take you down."
Kent's face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You think you can intimidate me? Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
Frost remained calm, meeting Kent's gaze without flinching. "You're just another piece in this game. And like every other piece, you can be removed."
Kent's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond.
"We're giving you a choice," Frost continued. "Cooperate with us, or we'll tear your world apart. You may be powerful, but you're not untouchable."
For a moment, Kent sat in silence, his hands clenched into fists on the desk. Then, slowly, he relaxed, a sly smile creeping across his face.
"You're very confident, Detective Frost," Kent said softly. "But you have no idea how deep this goes. You're playing with forces beyond your control."
Frost's expression didn't change. "Maybe. But I've brought down bigger men than you."
Kent chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "We'll see about that."
Without another word, Frost and Blake stood and left the office, leaving Kent behind with his cryptic warning. As they stepped back into the cool London air, Blake exhaled sharply.
"That didn't go as planned," Blake muttered.
"It went exactly as planned," Frost replied, his eyes cold and calculating. "Now we know he's scared."
Blake glanced at him, confused. "Scared? He didn't seem scared to me."
Frost's lips curled into a thin smile. "He's scared because he knows we're coming for him. And scared men make mistakes."
As they walked away from the building, Frost's mind was already racing ahead, planning their next move. They were getting closer to The Whisperer, but the deeper they went, the more dangerous it became.
And they had just made a very dangerous enemy.