Secret Society – Episode 012: The Money Trail

 

Secret Society – Episode 012: The Money Trail

As Holmes and Watson return from Transylvania, a financial trail leads straight to Count Vlad’s secret war chest—threatening to shift the power balance inside NPCW. Victoria Deschamps launches a strategic strike, but with every move, allies become exposed and enemies more brazen. And as Jacques Renaud falls from grace, the shadows around Vlad grow darker… and sharper.

Scene 1: Victoria’s Office – KBL Wrestling Organization Headquarters

The gleaming glass-paneled office of Victoria Deschamps overlooked the bustling heart of the North tower—its sleek, modern lines a sharp contrast to the ancient truths Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson had dragged back from the misty depths of Transylvania.

Victoria—Vice Chair of the KBL Wrestling Organization Board—stood poised behind her desk, an elegant force in heels and tailored crimson blazer. Exuding sharp poise and executive fire, she radiated resolve.

Holmes and Watson sat across from her, their expressions shadowed by revelations far darker than corporate intrigue.

Victoria’s brows arched as she absorbed the report, her manicured fingers gripping the document tighter with each turn of the page.

VICTORIA DESCHAMPS (with stunned emphasis): “An actual heir to… Count Dracula? The Alpha Vampire himself?”

Holmes remained cool, the fire behind his eyes tempered with calculation.

HOLMES (calm, clipped): “Yes. One of the five progeny House leaders. But unlike the others, his obsession lies not with castles or rituals—but professional wrestling.”

Watson cast Holmes a sideways glance, subtle but telling. Even after years at his side, moments like this made Watson question how far Holmes had descended into the deeper shadows of mystery.

VICTORIA (thoughtfully, rising to pace): “Then that makes him even more dangerous. He’s weaving his darkness into the sport we built. If NPCW becomes his playground… the consequences could be catastrophic.”

HOLMES (leaning forward): “Do you think he was involved with Flippers’ kidnapping?”

VICTORIA (tight-lipped): “Lady Molly is investigating that line. She’s scheduled to interview Count Vlad here at headquarters next week.”

Holmes’ eyebrow rose sharply.

HOLMES (intrigued): “Hmm. I'd very much like to be present for that…”

VICTORIA (smirking): “You’ll have to ask Lady Molly yourself. She’s not one to bend protocol.”

Holmes nodded with a sly curve of his lips.

HOLMES (dryly): “Of course…”

Watson shifted again, hands folded, voice cautious.

WATSON (musing): “Do you think Vlad’s involved in Santa’s… dramatic shift?”

Victoria’s expression hardened.

VICTORIA (serious): “I don’t know. But it reeks of Dark Dominion. Flippers goes missing—a symbol of hope. And almost immediately, Santa turns his back on the fans? That’s no accident.”

Holmes leaned back, his voice suddenly laced with implication.

HOLMES (low): “Our investigation traced two offshore accounts. $25 million USD hidden in the Caymans. We’ve already handed the documents to the proper authorities. Those funds should be frozen soon.”

Victoria’s eyes widened as she reviewed the attached files.

VICTORIA (genuine): “Excellent work, Holmes. This is concrete. If we can cut off Vlad’s financial lifeline…”

She scanned further, fingers moving quickly across encrypted memos.

VICTORIA (without looking up): “Did you uncover anything else?”

Holmes shook his head slowly, though his tone betrayed the truth:

HOLMES (with edge): “No. Not yet. But there are other threads waiting to be tugged…”

Watson glanced at him again—his partner’s eyes already dancing down a separate path not yet disclosed.

WATSON (muttering): “Always a new thread…”

Victoria snapped the folder shut.

VICTORIA (firmly): “Good. Keep me informed. Be sure our contact at HCW gets these findings too. Vlad deserves pressure from every angle. And…”

She looked up with a glint of satisfaction.

VICTORIA (smirking): “…Thank you for confirming Jacques Renaud’s loyalties. With that evidence, the board removed him today. The Chairman signed the termination papers personally.”

Holmes tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

HOLMES (with cool regret): “Hm. I’d have liked to keep him in play. A mole turned lever has uses. But I respect the decision.”

Victoria gathered her things and moved toward the exit.

VICTORIA (final note): “Thank you again, gentlemen. I’m off to a special board session. Keep me updated—frequently.”

Holmes and Watson rose. Holmes gave a polite bow, Watson a nod. As they stepped out into the corridor, the buzz of administrative urgency around them seemed a pale echo compared to the storm looming beyond.

EPILOGUE: Shadows Kept Close

The glass doors of KBL Wrestling Organization Headquarters hissed open as Holmes and Watson stepped into the cold dusk, the city's polished skyline reflecting a world far removed from the Carpathian fog they’d left behind. Cars hummed softly, neon signs blinked with synthetic cheer, and yet—beneath all the shine—Holmes carried darkness folded inside his coat like a second heart.

Watson adjusted his scarf and fell into stride beside him, eyes narrowing with practiced skepticism.

WATSON (grumbling): “You didn’t tell her everything, did you? All those leads, all those whispers—you gave her the bank accounts and left out the rest.”

Holmes glanced sideways with that faint glimmer of amused detachment.

HOLMES (sardonic, crisp): “Ah, my dear Watson... Timing is the most precise instrument we wield. The money wounds Vlad where it matters—for now. The rest?”
(He tapped his coat pocket lightly.) “We hold those daggers until the right backs are turned.”

Watson sighed, eyes scanning the crowd as they passed.

WATSON (quietly): “There’s more to this than you’re letting on, isn’t there?”

Holmes offered a half-smirk, his tone shifting to one of layered promise.

HOLMES (with a gleam): “The game, old chum... is still most deliciously afoot.”

They turned down the marble steps, footsteps echoing like punctuation marks, disappearing into the hum of a city unaware it stands atop a powder keg of bloodlines, betrayal, and beasts in tailored suits.

EPILOGUE 2: Dagger and Descent

The last rays of sunset filtered through the sleek blinds of Victoria Deschamps’s corner office, casting long golden lines across the black lacquer desk. The papers Sherlock Holmes had left behind lay in precise order—each sheet brimming with financial sleuthing and coded insight. The man had a mind like razors and a pen like piano wire.

Victoria, dressed in crimson executive chic and heels sharp enough to wound, picked up her office phone and dialed. Her expression held no hint of uncertainty.

VICTORIA DESCHAMPS (coolly, to the unseen recipient): “Sherlock delivered. The offshore accounts, the wire trails… it’s everything we needed to rattle Vlad. But once he’s wounded, he’ll get bolder. More dangerous. We’ll need to be ready.”

She paused, listening intently, eyes flicking toward a document labeled “Dark Dominion—Financial Activity: Cayman Threads”. Her lips pursed.

VICTORIA (curtly): “Good. I’m glad your end is progressing well. We’ll need them combat-ready—for what comes next.”

Another beat.

VICTORIA (final and firm): “Let’s meet next week. And come prepared.”

She hung up with the precision of someone who ends things definitively.

Victoria reached for her phone and slotted it into her clutch. It was time for the board meeting—a critical session where the fallout from today’s revelations would begin to take shape.

As she opened the heavy glass door to her office, the scene outside unfolded like a slow burn in a courtroom drama: Jacques Renaud, former President, was flanked by two grim-faced security officers. His tailored suit no longer carried weight—it looked like armor without purpose.

He turned sharply at her presence, eyes burning with fury.

JACQUES RENAUD (growling): “This was your doing, Vicky, wasn’t it?”

She tilted her head just slightly, not flinching, not cowering—calculated queenly grace.

VICTORIA DESCHAMPS (calm and cutting): “No, Jacques. You chose to take bribe money. You chose to look away while our wrestling federations fell under shadow. I simply held up the mirror.”

His fists clenched at his sides, jaw grinding.

JACQUES (snarling): “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. You’ll regret this.”

Victoria smiled—chill and effortless.

VICTORIA (stepping past him toward the staircase): “We’ll see.”

As she ascended toward the boardroom with purposeful elegance, Jacques was led down the marble steps toward the lobby, his career bleeding in silence behind him.

Above them, the future of NPCW was already rewriting itself, file by file, voice by voice… and dagger by dagger.