Page 13 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

His lips parted, revealing the sharp glint of alpha canines. “This is serendipitous. I was hoping to speak with you about a commission.”

“What kind of commission?” I asked carefully.

“I saw this photograph during while helping Aunt Adelaide clean up after…” Victor's voice faded as he shot a glance toward his aunt, his expression betraying reluctance to distress her further about the break-in. “The shoes in the photograph—the ones your grandfather made—are positively exquisite. The silver buckle work, the hand-stitched welting… it’s the kind of artistry that’s nearly extinct today.”

“You mean the shoes Thomas Wong was wearing?” I asked.

He nodded. “The very same!”

“Victor and Sebastian are opening their new boutique downtown to coincide with the Centennial Celebration,” Adelaide supplied.

“For our boutique’s grand opening, I’d like to commission an exact replica of those shoes,” Victor continued. “They would be the centerpiece of our historical elegance exhibition.”

“That’s quite a specific request,” I said. “Custom work like that would require detailed examination of the original item… and we only have a couple of photographs to go by.”

“Of course.” Victor’s smile sharpened slightly. “I’d be willing to pay handsomely. How does three thousand dollars sound?”

Three thousand dollars for a single pair of replica shoes was far beyond normal pricing, even for complex reproductions.

“That’s very generous,” I said carefully. “Perhaps we could discuss the details further? I’ll be at my shop later today.”

Adelaide’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she gazed at her nephew, her face softening with unmistakable affection. “Victor is quite passionate about historical posterity.”

Before I could respond, my phone vibrated. "Excuse me," I said, pulling the device from my pocket. I glanced down at the screen.

Blake

Shop security cleared. You and Penny have 2 hours. I’ll pick you up at 7pm.

“That works perfectly,” I said. “I’ll be at Cobblers’ Corner around five.”

“Excellent.” Victor’s smile, while pleasant enough, didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I look forward to our collaboration, Mr. Sterling-Hart.”

My shop felt different after four weeks of forced closure. The familiar scents of leather and polish had grown stale, and dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming throughwindows that hadn’t been opened in too long. My grandfather’s tools sat exactly where I’d left them, waiting patiently for hands that had been too shaken to use them properly these past few days.

“God, I missed this place,” Penny said, bursting through the front door in a swirl of cotton candy scent and nervous energy. He carried a bag from Tang’s Tea House and wore an outfit that somehow managed to be both vintage fabulous and practical for shop work. “It feels like forever since we’ve been able to just… exist here normally.”

“Nothing’s been normal lately,” I admitted, accepting the tea he offered. The warmth felt good against my hands.

Penny’s expression flickered. Now that it was just the two of us, his smile faded and his shoulders slumped, revealing the side of Penny he typically shared only with his mothers and me.

“That’s true,” he said. “The whole district feels wrong with Dominic locked away and you stressed out of your mind. Plus…” He gestured vaguely. “Other complications.”

“What kind of other complications?”

Before Penny could answer, the shop bell chimed. Victor Fairfax-Saunier stepped inside, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. His expensive cologne mixed unpleasantly with the honest scents of his leather and cedar pheromones, creating an odd chemical tang that made my nose itch.

I looked at the clock. 4:59pm. “Right on time, Mr. Fairfax-Saunier.”

“Please, call me Victor,” He said smoothly, but his pale blue eyes immediately fixed on Penny with an intensity that felt vaguely hostile. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” I replied, though I noticed Penny had gone very still beside me. “This is my friend, Penny Lee. Penny, Victor Fairfax-Saunier.”

Penny and his mothers had arrived in Millcrest long after Victor had married Sebastian and disappeared to France. Victor himself had barely left footprints in Millcrest's community, his formative years spent behind the stone walls of English boarding schools. I studied Victor's face, searching for clues in the sharp angles and practiced smile, wondering about the seemingly lonely child who'd grown into this polished stranger standing in my shop.

“We’ve met,” Penny said quietly, his usual dramatic flair completely absent. His saccharine scent had taken on a sour edge, tinged with genuine distress.

Victor’s smile sharpened. “Yes, we have. Through my husband Sebastian.” The way he saidhusbandcarried subtle emphasis, like he was marking territory. “How lovely to see you again, Mr. Lee.”