Chapter 133 Michael is Captured!
Cressida went to the front hall.
Michael sat slumped in his chair, head hanging low.
Patrick was scolding him: "Just how foolish can you be to lose your official uniform?"
Michael's tone was innocent: "I was out of my mind for a while, and many things got mixed up. How am I supposed to find the uniform when you suddenly ask me to?"
"That's an official uniform!" Patrick was anxious, not caring that outsiders were present as he cursed at Michael. "You're utterly useless. How did I end up with a son like you?"
Cressida entered the main hall. Oscar, the head official from the Guard Office, wore a brown official uniform and was accompanied by two patrol officers.
Seeing her arrive, they immediately stood and bowed respectfully: "Ms. Hamilton."
"Cressida, perfect timing. Quick, send someone to help Michael search for it—he's lost his uniform."
"Have you asked Michael's personal servant?" Cressida asked.
From the moment she appeared, Michael's eyes were filled with venomous coldness as he looked at her.
When Michael didn't answer, Patrick smacked the back of his head hard: "Speak up! Cat got your tongue?"
Only then did Michael respond irritably: "I already had the servants search everywhere. If it's gone, it's gone. I was out of my mind for so long—Cressida bears the most responsibility for this!"
Before Cressida could speak, Oscar looked at Michael and said: "Mr. Hamilton, let me remind you—losing an official uniform can mean jail time at best, or flogging at worst, with a lifetime ban from office. Depending on the circumstances, additional charges may be added for serious cases."
Michael's body trembled, his face turning slightly pale.
"It's that serious? I've never heard of anyone else facing so many charges for losing their uniform."
Oscar gave Michael a strange look: "The Guard Office uniform—one per person—represents the dignity of the nation and the honor of the Guard Office. How can it compare to ordinary clothing?"
"If someone with ill intentions copies it and impersonates a Guard Office official, running wild in the streets, oppressing citizens, or even colluding with criminals—this shakes the very foundation of authority and destroys public trust in the government."
"Even if I lost this uniform, I'd be charged with dereliction of duty!"
Cressida noticed Michael's legs beginning to shake.
He tried to stay calm, but cold sweat slid down his temples.
Patrick was also frightened, constantly pushing Michael: "You fool, think hard—where did you put your uniform?"
Cressida had Emma and Ingrid take people to search again.
They returned empty-handed.
Michael clutched his head, starting to complain of a headache.
Patrick hit Michael several more times until Oscar couldn't bear to watch and said: "Mr. Patrick Hamilton, my visit was sudden and rushed. It's understandable that Mr. Michael Hamilton couldn't search properly."
"How about this—I'll return in three days. If it still can't be found by then, I'll have no choice but to report this truthfully to my superiors."
Patrick nodded quickly: "Alright, sorry for the trouble. Noah, see Oscar and his men out!"
After they left, Patrick cursed Michael a few more times. Michael really knew how to cause trouble.
Cressida returned to her room, and Ingrid immediately handed her a receipt.
Cressida looked it over, her delicate eyebrows rising: "A pawnshop receipt?"
Ingrid nodded: "While searching the room, I took a look—there are over a dozen more in the box under Mr. Michael Hamilton's bed. It seems most of the things Mrs. Clio Hamilton lost were probably taken by Mr. Michael Hamilton and sold."
Cressida thought for a moment and immediately instructed: "Ingrid, find time to go to the pawnshop and redeem everything Michael pawned. Don't reveal your identity."
"I understand."
Emma said: "Mr. Michael Hamilton still hasn't changed—stealing Mrs. Clio Hamilton's things to pawn. Is he gambling again?"
Cressida looked thoughtful: "Even if Michael gambles, he shouldn't have lost his official uniform too. Verity, watch Michael these next few days and see where he goes."
Two days later, near evening, Michael quietly slipped out through the back door.
He came to the bank again—the same secluded, empty place with only Rolf there.
"Hurry up, give me back my uniform. Here's the money." Michael slapped all his money on the counter.
Recently, Rolf had taken Michael to a gambling house where he won a bit, and combined with money from pawning Clio's jewelry, he'd scraped together some cash.
Rolf squinted, smiling as he swept the money behind the counter.
Rolf looked at Michael: "That's it? Just this much?"
Michael froze: "What do you mean? There's forty thousand dollars here. My uniform was only mortgaged for thirty thousand dollars."
Rolf laughed.
"Mr. Hamilton, you don't understand. Last time you mortgaged it to borrow money. This forty thousand pays off the debt. To redeem the uniform, you need another thirty thousand dollars—and that's without calculating interest."
He picked up paper and pen, calculated briefly, then opened his mouth wide like a lion: "You need to give us at least sixty thousand dollars more."
Hearing this, Michael's face instantly flushed red with anger: "You're running a scam! You clearly said if I gathered the mortgage price, I could redeem it. Now you're adding more? Are you playing me?"
He angrily kicked over a nearby chair. The wooden chair crashed to the floor with a loud bang.
Rolf stepped back half a pace, but his face still wore a sinister smile.
"Mr. Hamilton, don't get so worked up." Rolf said slowly, his eyes glancing to the side.
Just then, the curtain to the back room lifted.
Two burly, muscular men stepped out, arms crossed, staring coldly at Michael.
Michael's momentum immediately weakened, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Seeing this, Rolf's smile deepened, though his tone turned cold: "No money? Then don't think about redeeming the uniform."
"What, don't even know what a mortgage is? The item's with us, so naturally we set the rules."
"Mr. Hamilton, go raise the money!"
The two men threw Michael out.
Michael ate a mouthful of dirt, staggering to his feet, looking around blankly, his heart ice-cold.
Where am I supposed to get more money? Ask Clio? No, I already stole and pawned her last pieces of jewelry.
Tell Patrick? He'll beat me to death. Patrick's already disappointed in me—if I tell him about this, he'll definitely throw me out of the family.
Michael stumbled back to The Hamilton Mansion with unsteady steps.
That night, Verity told Cressida about this.
The night was like water, light and shadow shifting.
Cressida frowned: "What bank?"
Verity shook her head: "I had someone investigate and discovered it's a bank that's been open less than a month. There must be a wealthy backer behind it."
"This is a setup, targeting Michael." Cressida said.
I didn't expect someone else besides me to want Michael to fall into a trap, but that person's target probably isn't just Michael alone—it's the entire Hamilton Mansion.
The mastermind behind this is no simple person. They know everything about The Hamilton Mansion, knew Michael was in debt with nowhere to turn.
They tempted him to mortgage his official uniform, and once discovered, the entire Hamilton family would be implicated.
Otherwise, how could it be such a coincidence? Right after Michael mortgaged the uniform, the Guard Office came to collect it.
The mastermind who can manipulate the Guard Office is definitely not simple.
"This person won't be easy to deal with." Cressida looked thoughtful.
Verity frowned: "Then what should we do? Should we tell Prince Miguel? Or should we pay off the debt for Mr. Hamilton first? Otherwise, The Hamilton Mansion will be in trouble."
Cressida didn't rush to decide. She stood and walked to the window.
Tomorrow was the Festival of the Bright Moon. The night wind had turned thoroughly cool, brushing past her cold, beautiful face.
A round moon shone through the clouds, surrounded by mist.
Cressida felt the wind, silent for a long moment, then turned and said: "A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity has come."
"What opportunity?" Verity didn't understand.
Cressida's tone was low, cold, and calm: "Before, I only thought that getting Michael expelled from the family would be Father's limit, but now someone has conveniently handed me leverage that will let me legitimately take Michael's life."
She stood with her back to the window, the night wind lifting Cressida's long hair, unable to suppress the fierce killing intent in her eyes.
"Verity, go do something for me."
At dawn, Michael came out of Rose's courtyard.
He'd wanted Rose to borrow money for him, to help him find a solution, but unexpectedly Rose firmly refused.
Michael was very disappointed. He'd been so good to Rose, treating her like his own sister, but when trouble came, Rose was eager to distance herself from him.
Just then, he heard voices from the garden on the other side of the wall.
"Verity, where are you going?" A young maid's voice.
Verity: "The eldest Ms. Hamilton has been thinking about how to catch the criminal who injured Mrs. Mabel Hamilton."
Michael suddenly stopped, slowly pressing against the wall to eavesdrop.
Verity said: "Ms. Cressida Hamilton thinks that the thief who stole the valuables must be trying to pawn them, so she wants me to ask Ms. Jessica Hamilton if she can draw what some of the items looked like, so the officers can check each pawnshop."
They chatted as they walked away, but Michael's mind rang like a gong—he was instantly alert.
That's right, I'm not completely out of money. After I stabbed Mabel, I disguised it as theft and buried the stolen valuables and hairpins in the back mountain!
If I dig up those items and give them to the bank to pay the debt, who could trace it back to me?
Michael couldn't suppress his excitement—heaven never seals off all exits!
Tonight was the fifteenth of August, but unfortunately a drizzling autumn rain began to fall.
Patrick had no interest in hosting a family banquet. The Hamilton Mansion had too many troubles lately. He gave Cressida a few perfunctory instructions, then went to Echo's room to spend the holiday.
Cressida sent pastries to each courtyard, telling them not to go out tonight since it was raining and the roads were muddy.
Around eleven o'clock at night, Michael left his room wearing a rain cape. The Hamilton Mansion sat in the pouring rain, lights weak in each wing, and no one noticed him leaving through the back door.
He mounted the horse he'd prepared during the day and headed straight for the mountain behind the church.
Afraid of being seen, Michael took a small path around to go up the mountain. Rainwater kept sliding off the cape, soaking through his inner clothes. Finding the horse too slow on the muddy ground, he jumped down and ran up the mountain.
Finding the tree where he'd buried the items, he pulled out the short shovel he'd prepared, gripped the handle, and thrust it hard into the soft, wet soil.
With all ten fingers broken, he couldn't use much strength now, so he had to bite the wooden handle with his teeth and work the shovel back and forth.
Gradually, a mud-covered bundle appeared, the fabric long since soaked with blood, showing dark red traces under the rain's washing.
Michael's eyes lit up with joy!
He threw down the shovel and unwrapped the bundle, pulling out the valuables.
Rubbing them clean with the rainwater, the gold's luster was very visible in the night!
"My money, mine!" Michael laughed out loud.
Suddenly, a sword lay across his neck.
His laughter stopped abruptly. Looking up, he fell back onto the ground.
Through the curtain of rain, in the darkness, officers had somehow approached Michael. The lead officer, Ronin, said coldly: "We've been looking for you for a long time—the one who attacked someone at the church."