Chapter 30

Agent Katherine Reeves finished reviewing the dossier on Nicholas Carter one final time before closing the unmarked government sedan’s passenger door. A steady rain fell across the Northumberland countryside, darkening the already gloomy spring afternoon.

“Ready?” asked Agent Malcolm Harwick from the driver’s seat, his voice carrying the faint traces of his Lancashire childhood beneath years of careful elocution.

Katherine nodded curtly. “Let’s get this done.”

Neither spoke as they drove the last miles toward Northwood Hall. The situation was unusual—an American craftsman with a peculiar background taking up residence at the Earl of Northwood’s estate to build a treehouse for Lady Louise Spencer. It was not precisely a national security matter, but the proximity to even peripheral royalty meant routine vetting had escalated to a direct interview.

Katherine had made her opinion clear during the preliminary briefing: “I don’t like it. Unconventional background, prison time, no established connection to legitimate architectural firms. Could be an elaborate approach.”

Malcolm had been more measured. “The security detail hasn’t flagged any concerning behaviors. Background checks are clean since juvenile records. Published works indicate transparency about past experiences.”

Their superior had listened to both perspectives before issuing simple instructions: “Interview him. Determine whether this arrangement presents any security concerns.”

Now, as they approached the estate’s gates, Katherine planned her approach. She would be direct, confrontational. People with something to hide often revealed themselves under pressure. Malcolm would observe, interject occasionally, and watch for inconsistencies and stress indicators.

Standard procedure, but this case irritated her. The American’s background—juvenile delinquent to Pulitzer winner to Swiss-trained carpenter—seemed designed to lower defenses through its sheer unusualness. She’d seen similar tactics before: operatives crafting compelling personal narratives to gain access to potential targets.

“You’ve read his books,” she stated as Malcolm slowed for the security check at the gate.

“Yes. Both of them.” He showed his identification to the guard, who had been expecting them. “The second one, twice. About solitary confinement.”

“And?” she prompted, knowing Malcolm rarely volunteered personal opinions without specific inquiry.

Malcolm was quiet for a moment longer than usual. “It was ... difficult reading. Especially considering he was just fifteen years old. A child.”

Something in his tone made Katherine glance over. Malcolm’s expression remained professional, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

The car stopped before the estate’s service entrance rather than the main doors—a deliberate choice to signal the nature of their visit. This wasn’t a social call.

A staff member escorted them to a small study where the American was waiting. Katherine noted the room’s layout—two exits, windows with a view of the eastern grounds, and minimal furniture. The space had been prepared for this interview, likely at the estate’s security team’s direction.

Nicholas Carter stood as they entered. Katherine registered his size immediately—substantial but not intimidating, his posture balanced rather than imposing. She watched as his eyes assessed them both.

“Mr. Carter,” Malcolm began, “I’m Harwick and this is Reeves. We’d like to ask you some questions about your arrangement here at Northwood Hall.”

“Okay. I’ve been expecting you,” the American replied.

His direct acknowledgment of the inevitable security check was the first point in Katherine’s mental assessment. Most innocent civilians expressed surprise or nervousness when approached by security services. His composure suggested either exceptional self-control or familiarity with such procedures.