The meeting had completely ended, but the atmosphere of mutual suspicion permeating the branch did not disperse with the crowd.
The footsteps in the corridor gradually faded into the distance.
Everyone who left the reading room behaved exactly as they usually did.
And because of that, everyone looked a bit suspicious.
Taylor took the transfer copy with him before leaving.
Sir Vere resealed the destruction notice in an evidence bag.
Breed said nothing more, only reiterating his order to halt any public investigation.
Everyone nodded.
As for whether they nodded in their hearts, no one knew.
Before long, Cecil was the only one left in the conference room.
Sitting at the end of the long table, she laid out the documents that had appeared today once more.
The Storm Inquisition's temporary authorization.
The old Maritime Authority transfer directory.
The Landon General Bureau's receipt confirmation.
And the destruction notice issued at six o'clock this morning.
Four complete sets of paperwork.
Pieced together, however, they looked like a pre-written certificate of disappearance.
The Storm Inquisition had arrived too quickly.
The destruction notice had also come far too coincidentally.
But when Mireya refused to provide the legal coordinates for the Octowin's main cannon, her attitude did not seem feigned.
She had even explicitly pointed out that the existence of a risk did not mean the main cannon had to be unlocked.
If the entire Inquisition had already aligned with Wayland, there was absolutely no need to leave such an obvious obstacle in the way.
Yet, the probability of the Storm Inquisition intervening at this exact moment by mere coincidence was also close to zero.
Cecil tapped her knuckles lightly on the table.
Either not everyone within the Inquisition shared the same opinion.
Someone wanted the navy to enter Moon Bay but was unwilling to let Thomas obtain the main cannon clearance.
Or someone was using the name of the Storm Inquisition to push the situation forward.
The Inquisition was responsible for providing a truthful risk assessment.
Meanwhile, the person behind the scenes used this truthful conclusion to exchange for the authorization they wanted.
Everyone was telling the truth.
But in the end, it would likely result in an utter disaster.
This method felt familiar to Cecil.
Because the branch's mole did the exact same thing.
The mole hadn't forged a sea beast invasion.
They hadn't personally flooded the old Maritime Authority's underground storehouse.
They hadn't even directly ordered the incineration of the calibration records.
He had merely nudged the existing issues forward at every appropriate juncture.
The flooding of the underground storehouse was a fact.
The spiritual mildew was also a fact.
The old files needing restoration was perfectly in line with regulations.
During the transfer process, the screening, boxing, and approval had gone through three different departments in Hastings Port.
And the final destruction took place in Landon.
A single chain spanning two cities.
Any single link taken on its own complied perfectly with the rules.
This meant that the mole had only truly done one thing.
Nudging things along.
Someone had told him in advance which documents would affect Wayland's upcoming plans.
He then used a real accident to slip those files into the most convenient process for them to disappear.
Cecil's gaze fell on the transfer date.
The calibration records had left the branch the day before the sea beast invasion.
This showed that the Wayland faction had already begun dealing with evidence that might hinder their plans before they even made their move.
They weren't patching holes after the fact.
Instead, before the plan even started, they had already decided which papers should be burned and whose mouths should be shut.
It was disgustingly meticulous.
But for now, they still couldn't pin down a specific person.
The screening of the thirty-two files had been completed by the archives room.
The boxing was handled by the pollution control unit.
The approval had gone through the Director's office.
And the logistical transfer fell to Taylor.
Further down the line, there was the receipt, review, restoration, and destruction by the Landon General Bureau.
The more they investigated, the more hands they found involved.
Yet, the number of truly useful clues did not increase.
The mole investigation had temporarily reached a standstill.
It wasn't hard to understand why Breed demanded a halt to the public investigation.
It wasn't giving up.
Rather, it was folding the investigation back into their routine work.
No longer actively hunting for a mole.
Instead, they would simply record who pushed which process at what time, and who found out about what when they shouldn't have.
As long as they restored a facade of normalcy, the person hiding in the shadows would have to continue their work.
And as long as he kept moving, he would leave traces.
Of course.
This all relied on a premise that was best not contemplated too deeply.
It was best if Director Breed himself wasn't the mole.
Otherwise, their current investigation strategy was practically equivalent to having the mole personally lead the search for the mole.
At this thought, Cecil raised her hand and rubbed her temples.
The Seventh Agency had been chaotic enough lately.
She didn't want to add a hypothesis about "the branch director leading the betrayal" to her worries.
At least not for now.
Cecil packed up the transfer directory and resealed the documents.
Then, she pulled out her Origin Web communicator and channeled a strand of spirituality into it.
After a brief burst of static, the connection went through.
The sound of rustling paper came from the other end first.
Cecil leaned back in her chair.
“My private scribe, did you finish writing the draft for me?”
“I finished it.”
Ophelia's voice came through immediately.
She sounded quite energetic.
This girl hadn't slept well while on the run.
But once she started writing about Wayland, it was as if she had suddenly found a stimulating potion.
“The title is—”
“《Before Wayland Protects Hastings Port, Can They First Let the Frontline Lighthouse Staff Live?》”
Cecil fell silent for two seconds.
“Too long.”
The other end of the communication went quiet for a moment.
Ophelia had clearly crossed something out on the paper.
“Then how about 《Who Extinguished Hastings Port's Lamp of Hope?》”
Cecil repeated it.
“This one is good.”
It was shorter.
And it felt more like a slap in the face.
“There are no names of sensitive personnel in the content, right?”
She reminded her.
“Like Elias.”
“Don't worry,” Ophelia replied.
“I wouldn't go so far as to make my savior's name public.”
She knew very well what that recording could make public.
The deceased frontline employees.
Wayland's management records.
And everything that had happened in the lighthouse basement.
As for who had brought her to the island and who had kept her alive to bring the evidence back, there was no need for anyone to know.
“That is for the best,” Cecil said.
She raised her voice slightly.
“Xia'an?”
The sound of a chair scraping came from the other end of the communicator.
Immediately after, Xia'an's voice rang out.
“I'm here, ma'am.”
Judging by the distance, she had probably been standing guard nearby the entire time.
Forced to watch Ophelia revise the title eight times along the way.
“Once you're ready, drop the draft into the private mailbox.”
“I told you the location before.”
“Do not go through the hotel front desk.”
“And do not use the branch's delivery channels.”
“Understood,” Xia'an replied.
“I will go personally.”
“Good.”
Cecil cut the connection.
The blue circuits gradually dimmed.
Quiet returned to the conference room.
She glanced at the destruction notice on the table and slowly exhaled.
The lead on the mole was at a temporary dead end.
But at least regarding the Octowin's firing clearance, they still had a chance to turn the tables.
Thomas had already let the newspapers speak for him once.
So, she should also let Hastings Port see exactly how many frontline employees' corpses Wayland's so-called "protection" was built upon.
Meanwhile.
On the other side of the branch, in the Director's office.
Breed sat on a single-seater sofa in the reception area.
Sir Vere sat opposite him.
A pot of untouched tea sat between them.
At a time like this, whoever picked up their cup first would look like they were trying to hide something.
Breed didn't bother maintaining hospitality etiquette either.
He spoke directly:
“The last archivist of the old Maritime Authority might have privately copied a calibration master draft.”
Sir Vere's expression shifted slightly.
Breed pulled open a drawer beside him and took out a folded piece of paper.
“He has been living in Hastings Port since he retired.”
“I want you to take some men and find him.”
Sir Vere looked at the paper.
Just as Breed was about to hand it over, he suddenly raised his hand.
“Don't tell me the address.”
The paper hovered between them.
Breed looked up.
“Why?”
“If there really is a second copy, the fewer people who know its location, the better,” Vere said.
“Xia'an and Dabu have already been reassigned by the special envoy.”
“No matter if the rest of my team requests vehicles, retrieves equipment, or leaves the branch, they all have to go through the dispatch desk.”
“Giving the address to me is equivalent to throwing it back into a chain that the mole can access.”
“The moment we start moving, the other side will quickly figure out who the target is.”
Breed did not pull the paper back.
“You don't want the credit?”
Vere snorted coldly.
“I'd prefer to live long enough to receive it.”
“Besides, reaching for this credit right now is like trying to grab meat from a bear trap.”
“Whether you get the meat is hard to say.”
“But your hand will definitely be gone.”
Breed stared at him.
Vere met the Director's gaze, his tone unchanging.
“Give the address to Ms. Cecil.”
“She has channels that bypass the branch.”
“Let her decide who to send. That way, there won't be any records left at the dispatch desk.”
The office fell silent for a moment.
Breed looked at Vere.
It was as if he were trying to determine whether this refusal stemmed from genuine caution or from some other, more covert motive.
Ultimately, he refolded the paper and placed it back into the drawer.
“You may go.”
Vere stood up.
“Yes, Director.”
He didn't press for the address.
He didn't ask for the archivist's name.
He didn't even try to confirm whether the second draft truly existed.
After the door closed, Breed leaned back on the sofa alone.
He glanced at the tightly shut drawer.
Vere had actively given up the opportunity to come into contact with the draft.
At least this time, he hadn't tried to obtain information about the target, nor had he brought the clue into the branch's dispatch system.
He could be temporarily crossed off the suspect list.
Just temporarily.
In the corridor.
Vere's deputy had been waiting for a long time.
Seeing him emerge, the deputy immediately came forward to meet him.
“Who does the Director want us to arrest?”
The deputy lowered his voice, a look of resignation about the impending overtime in his eyes.
“No one.”
Vere walked forward.
The deputy was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly caught up.
“Then what are we investigating next?”
Vere stopped in his tracks.
He looked back at the closed door of the Director's office, a hint of thoughtfulness appearing in his eyes.
“Let's first find out one thing.”
“Whether the old Maritime Authority actually had a second draft.”
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