Chapter 62: The Preparations

Steve turned toward his mother and grandmother, looking pointedly at them. They both nodded, confirming what he was thinking. He turned to Luisa.

“Okay, you’re in. Now it’s time we revealed our secrets to you.”

Luisa held up a hand, her palm flat. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a small electronic device, its surface studded with blinking lights. She stood, moving through the kitchen in a slow, deliberate circuit. The device hummed softly as she swept it along the baseboards, under the table, across the windowsills. Her movements were precise, practiced, her eyes scanning the display with quiet intensity.

After a full minute, she paused. A small smile tugged at her lips as she studied the readings. She clicked the device off and stored it back in her briefcase with a soft thud.

“Just making sure no electronic ears were listening,” she explained, settling back into her chair. “You’d be surprised what people leave lying around in modern homes.”

Steve let out a low breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Good thinking.”

Susan and Heather sat on each side of Steve, their bodies angled toward him, a wall of silent support. Luisa looked at the determined faces across the table and took on a professional demeanor, her dark eyes sharp and focused.

“You might not know this,” Steve began, his voice low and steady, “but there is some strife in the clan at this moment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. Luisa’s expression remained neutral, but her eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

Steve leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. “There’s a divide. Between the traditionalists and the interventionists. Two factions with very different ideas about what the O’Connor clan should be.”

Luisa’s gaze flickered to Heather, then back to Steve. She didn’t interrupt.

“The interventionists believe we should reveal ourselves to the world,” Steve continued. “They think humanity is ready to accept us. To accept our ways.”

His jaw tightened. “They’re wrong.”

The word hung in the air, sharp and final.

“The world is not ready for the revelation of an international secret society living under their nose,” Steve said, his voice hardening. “Even if they would tolerate our ways of living—which I do not believe they would—the fact that a secret society had infiltrated all parts of their society and political structure would be reason enough to wipe us out.”

He let that sink in.

Luisa’s hand, which had been resting on her coffee mug, stilled. Her fingers curled around the ceramic, but she said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Steve, unblinking.

Heather leaned forward, her voice a quiet counterpoint to Steve’s intensity. “The council is fractured. The interventionists have been gaining ground, spreading their message of openness. They believe that by revealing ourselves, we can control the narrative. That we can shape how the world perceives us.”

“And they’re fools if they believe that,” Susan cut in, her voice sharp. “Once the genie is out of the bottle, you can’t stuff it back in. Governments would dissect us. Scientists would want to study our genetics. Religious groups would call us abominations. The world would tear us apart.”

Luisa’s gaze shifted to Susan, then back to Steve. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving his.

“And where do you stand?” she asked, her voice low and measured.

Steve met her gaze without flinching. “I stand with my family. With the clan. With the people who have protected this secret for generations.” His hand found Heather’s on the table, his fingers intertwining with hers. “We are not going to let a bunch of idealistic fools destroy everything our ancestors built.”

Luisa set her mug down with a soft clink. She was silent for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face, weighing his words. Then she nodded, a slow, deliberate motion.

“Being part of the clan, I knew most of what you revealed,” Luisa said, her voice carrying a calm authority. “I did not know who were the players in that conflict. I assume the good reverend is part of the interventionist?”

All three nodded in unison.

A predatory smile curled across Luisa’s lips, sharp and knowing. “I had assumed you were going to hire me, so I already had someone following the reverend.”

Susan, Heather, and Steve exchanged glances, their surprise plain on their faces.

“He is on his way back to Georgia as we speak.”

A cloud of tension seemed to lift from the kitchen, evaporating like morning mist. Steve hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been—how the confrontation with the reverend had weighted heavily in his mind.

He made his decision. Trust her.

“There’s more,” he said, his voice steady but low. “Despite recent events, we do not believe the interventionists act out of malice. We think they want to show the world a way other than conflict. A noble goal, for sure ... but a naive one.”

He shook his head sadly, his fingers tightening around Heather’s hand. “I’ve devised a plan that I ... no, we hope will show them what will happen if they succeed.”

Steve leaned forward. “The plan is to create a fake secret society. A fictional threat that spans the world. We’ll slowly reveal its existence—leaked documents, encrypted messages, anonymous tips to journalists. We’ll let the governments, the media, and the public do what they do best: panic, investigate, and overreact.”

He paused, letting the idea sink in. “We’ll show the interventionists exactly what would happen if the O’Connor clan ever revealed itself. The chaos. The paranoia. The witch hunts. Without ever actually exposing a single real member of our family.”

For the first time, Luisa’s composed mask cracked. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine astonishment crossing her face. She set down her coffee mug with a deliberate clink, her fingers drumming against the tabletop. “The resources required ... and I don’t just mean the money, which would be substantial. You’d need an army to pull this off. Operatives. Technicians. An entire infrastructure.”

Steve shook his head slowly, a thin smile playing on his lips. “Not really. You see, if you nudge their society in the right direction—plant the right seeds, feed the right fears—they’ll do the heavy lifting by themselves. The media will chase the story. The politicians will grandstand. The internet will fill in the gaps with wild theories. We just need to light the fuse.”

Luisa fell silent, her dark eyes narrowing as she processed his words. The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. She looked at Steve, then at Susan and Heather, her gaze lingering on each of them in turn.

A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips. “I don’t know if you’ll succeed,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of dark amusement. “But I’ll have fun seeing the results.”

Luisa reached into her briefcase again, the leather creaking as she pulled out another document. She slid it across the table with a practiced motion, the pages fanning slightly before settling in front of Steve. “Standard one year contract,” she revealed, her voice crisp and professional. “With what you’ve told me, I think it would be best if I become your personal guard while I get my people to guard your family.”