Page 94 of Corrupt

“Very.” I smiled. “No neighbours. No road noise. It’s all trees, a terrible track, and a gate that never quite shuts. Garden backs onto a private lake.”

“A lake?” He glanced at me.

“Of course. Swans and everything.” I winked. “Can’t eat them though. They belong to the king.”

He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “Course.”

By the time we turned off the main road, the sun was high and heavy through the branches. The lane narrowed to barely more than a suggestion, dust rising in soft plumes behind us. Leaves brushed the sides of the car. The radio crackled and fell away.

Then the trees broke.

And Grandfather’s cottage sat alone at the end of the track, set back from a sweep of untamed grass and low stone walling slumped with age. Red brick darkened by time. A slate roof dulled to blue-grey. Windows catching the light and flinging it back in brief, blinding flashes.

Razor cut the engine and a bird startled out of a hedge. Heat shimmered above the ground. The air smelt of sun-warmed earth and wild growth. Then he reached for the door.

And we stepped out of London.

The heat followed us, thick and late-summer heavy, pressing down as I circled round to the gate. The gravel crunched underfoot. No traffic noise here. No voices. It was only the low rustle of trees, leaves whispering as if the place were waking up after a long sleep. The keybox was half-hidden beneath ivy and I peeled it open, thankful no one had the fortitude to change the code.

Then I unlocked the door and pushed inside.

Dust hit first. Stale air and old plaster and I stepped in to flick a switch—

Nothing.

I exhaled. “It’s…not luxury.”

“I’ve stayed in a lot worse.” Razor came up behind me. “Way worse.”

I tried another switch. The light blinked, buzzed, then finally steadied, throwing the room into reluctant life. A sitting room suspended in time: a sagging sofa draped with a faded throw, a low table, shelves half-filled with books no one had touched in decades. Dust lay thick on every surface.

“This might not have been my best idea.”

Razor snorted. “It’s quiet. I’ll give you that.”

God, it was quiet. No traffic. No sirens. No people.

Just us.

“It’s got four walls and furniture,” Razor said. “It’s a palace in my eyes.”

“It needs work.”

“Like what?”

“Well.” I gestured vaguely. “The lights don’t work, so electrics might be dodgy. Which probably means there might not be any hot water. And knowing my family, everything that requires effort has been ignored.”

“And you don’t know how to fix any of that?”

“Me?” I laughed. “I was raised by staff. If something wasn’t working, it was fixed before I’d ever know.”

“Mad, that.” He rolled his eyes. “All that money and no one showed you how to change a fuse.”

He moved past me, testing switches, opening cupboards, crouching to peer beneath the sink. “The power’s on but something’s tripping it. And your tap’s got a leak.” He glanced up from the cupboard. “Got a toolbox?”

“I…probably? Somewhere?”

He found it without my help beneath the stairs. Old. Half empty. Missing half its contents. Then he got to work under the sink.