Cinders of the Conspiracy

Chapter 3

The Reluctant Ally.

Leaning back in his chair, Silas Granger lit another cigarette. Like a wire overextended, the tension in the room crackled. Across from him, Eleanor Wickham sat with her hands gripping the box as if it contained the answers to all of the questions she had ever been afraid to ask.

"I am unable to assist you," Silas replied, releasing a cloud of smoke. He spoke in a flat, uncompromising tone.

Eleanor's expression became stern. "The entire story hasn't even been told to you."

He responded, "I've heard enough," and stabbed the cigarette into a broken ashtray. "You don't realize how huge of a problem you're facing. Caleb Hartwell is one of those people that doesn't just light fires for fun.

"That's precisely why I came to you," she retorted, raising her voice. "You are aware of their potential. You have personally witnessed it.

With his chair scuffing the weathered hardwood floor, Silas stood up. And for that reason, I'm refusing. The pursuit of men like Hartwell has already cost me too much. What little I have left is not going to be lost.

"How about me?" Eleanor's eyes burned with defiance, but her voice faltered. "How should I proceed? Wait for them to do the task?

Turning to face the window, Silas remarked, "That's not my problem." His face was streaked with darkness when the sunlight got through the dirty blinds. "Look for someone else."

Eleanor stood up suddenly, her steps deliberate and angular. "This is unbelievable," she murmured. "You, of all people. The man who brought down the Braxton cartel by exposing the Wolfcroft Corporation. What took place with you?

Silas remained silent. His jaw tensed as he gazed out at the city beyond.

"All right," she responded in a softer but no less ferocious tone. However, don't act as though you're not already involved. It is evident from the name in the box.

With her fingers digging into the weathered wood, Eleanor positioned herself squarely in front of Silas's desk. Her voice was firm but tinged with anguish as she replied, "My house is gone." "Everything that I had ever known was reduced to ash." What about my husband? He was murdered, not only killed.

Slowly, Silas turned, his face unreadable. "Murdered?"

Her throat constricted as she nodded. They presented it as an accident. an automobile accident. However, I am more knowledgeable. Until he became involved in whatever this is, Thomas was not reckless and he certainly didn't have any enemies.

Silas studied her while folding his arms. Something in her eyes pierced his shields with a raw desperation. "Are you certain that Hartwell is involved in this?"

"I don't know!" she cried out, her annoyance showing. However, my husband is deceased, yet his name is in that box. Please let me know if that is a coincidence.

Returning to the desk, Silas picked up the box and flipped it over in his hands. He whispered, "People like Hartwell don't leave loose ends." "Thomas must have known something worth killing for if he was involved."

Although Eleanor's voice grew softer, it remained sharp. "I need you for that reason. The only person who could possibly know what he knew and why they are now pursuing me is you.

Silas put the package down and looked at her. The weight of her words hung between them, and for a minute the room was silent.

Finally, in a low voice, he replied, "I can't promise anything." "But I will examine the document."

Silas gently unfurled the sheet, looking at the precise handwriting. Like someone attempting to leave breadcrumbs without being discovered, the phrases were exact and systematic.

"This was written by your husband?" he inquired.

Eleanor's fingers twisted uneasily as she nodded. That's how he always maintained his notes. However, I'm not sure what it signifies.

Silas traced the lines of writing, his brow wrinkled. "It is more than a simple note," he added softly. "This is a cipher."

"A cipher?"

His voice became more animated as he tapped the page. "Look at these words? They are overly methodical and organized. He was concealing something; he wasn't only jotting down ideas.

With her heart racing, Eleanor leaned forward. "What is it saying?"

Even though his mind was already assembling pieces, Silas acknowledged, "Nothing that makes sense yet." However, a trend can be seen here. If I manage to figure it out...

His eyes narrowed and he walked away. His attention was drawn to a single word at the bottom of the page: "Daggerfall."

"What is it?" inquired Eleanor.

After folding the paper, Silas put it back in the box. "It's a place," he stated in a somber tone. "And if I'm correct, that's where it all began."

Eleanor felt sick to her stomach. "Where does it stop?"

Silas's eyes remained fixed on her. "That depends on how prepared you are for what we're going to discover."

With the document spread out in front of him like an unwanted visitor, Silas sat by himself in the faint light of his desk lamp. His mind tugged in two directions as his fingers pounded the wooden surface in an uneasy pattern. He couldn't afford to take the chance of helping Eleanor Wickham, but leaving seemed like giving up on a battle he wasn't yet prepared to acknowledge he cared about.

From the page, the name Caleb Hartwell mockingly gazed back at him. For far too long, Hartwell had been a shadowy presence in the background of Silas's humiliations and failures, a ghost in his past. Participating now might entice Silas to return to a game he believed he had abandoned.

Eleanor’s anguished plea repeated in his memory. Her life was not the only thing at stake, as evidenced by the trembling in her voice and the dread in her eyes. She was holding onto something that was deadly enough to cause Hartwell to come out something for which her husband had died.

He pushed the glass of whiskey toward his lips, the amber liquid swirling as he reached for it next to him. Tired and worn, yet with a glimmer of the man he once was, his mirror in the glass gazed back at him.

His contemplation was interrupted by a forceful knock on the door. The sound of his heart skipping was unsettling in the silence. He thought about ignoring it for a second, but his instincts pulled him to his feet.

There was nobody there when he opened the door. All that was in front of him was the quiet, unmoving corridor. When he looked down, he noticed an unlabeled envelope on the ground. With trepidation tight in his chest and tentative fingers, he lifted it up.

He opened it and took out one sheet of paper. "Stay away from her, Granger," the note said in large, scribbled characters. This is not your battle.

The menace pierced Silas's mind as he gazed at the note. He took a step back into his office and clicked the door shut. He glanced at the paper on his desk. The person who left the note was observing and knew more than he had assumed.

His desk phone rang before he could consider the consequences, the high-pitched sound cutting through the strained air. The receiver was cool against his ear as he picked it up after he paused.

"Granger," he uttered sharply.

For a little period, there was only the faint sound of breathing on the other end of the line. A gravelly, deep voice then spoke. "Go now. You have nothing to do with Eleanor Wickham.

Silas's pulse accelerated as he tightened his hold on the phone. "Who is this?"

The voice spoke calmly and deliberately, "That doesn't matter." "It's important that you stop this. Keep out of Hartwell's way, forget about her, and forget about the fire.

Silas's mouth clenched. "Hartwell." He's behind this, then?

The voice laughed icily, without humor. "For a man who has already lost everything, you ask too many questions. Avoid making things worse for yourself.

"Why don't you come here and tell me that directly?" With a stern tone, Silas retorted.

The voice didn't respond favorably to the lure. Granger, this is your only caution. Be serious about it.

The line died. Slowly, Silas put down the receiver, his thoughts racing. The obvious danger only strengthened his determination. This was about something considerably more significant than Eleanor's safety if Hartwell was involved.

His eyes narrowed as he took another look at the document. No matter what Thomas Wickham had discovered, it was enough to unnerve influential folks. Having made up his mind, Silas reached for his coat.

Eleanor was no longer the only one fighting.