Chapter 58: Cointreau, the Person in Charge
"Miss Chris. We meet again."
Vermouth paused, her heels clicking to a halt on the polished marble floor. She turned, a flicker of genuine surprise breaking through her carefully crafted Hollywood persona. "Didn't you leave?" she asked, her tone laced with mild suspicion. "Why are you back?"
Kaeya offered a smooth, effortless smile, resting a hand over his heart. "I gave it some thought on my way out. Leaving a woman as stunning as Miss Chris behind at a grim crime scene felt entirely too cruel. While I may not be a master of gentlemanly etiquette, it certainly doesn't hurt to practice it occasionally, wouldn't you agree?"
Vermouth's eyes narrowed, her skeptical gaze sweeping over him. The charm offensive was falling flat.
Sensing the dead end, Kaeya chuckled and smoothly pivoted. "Alright, you caught me. The truth is, I stepped outside and realized it was snowing heavily. Since I didn't bring a car, walking back to the hotel in this weather seemed like a miserable prospect."
Vermouth didn't press the issue. Her sharp eyes took in the subtle details of his appearance. He had only been gone for ten minutes at most, just enough time to walk from the memorial hall to the restaurant entrance and back. His tailored coat was slightly rumpled, likely the result of aggressive reporters swarming him for a quote. A faint dusting of pristine, un-melted snow clung to the tips of his hair, and the dark leather of his shoes was damp. He had definitely stepped outside. However, the lack of heavy water stains meant he had turned back almost immediately.
"Fine," Vermouth said, her tone softening into a dismissive drawl. "Once this tedious affair wraps up, I'll have someone pick us up."
With uniformed police officers swarming the perimeter, she wisely refrained from dropping any names or Organization codenames.
Soon enough, it was Chris Vineyard's turn to be questioned by the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. Since Kaeya hadn't been handed one of the purple handkerchiefs distributed to the suspects, Inspector Megure quickly ruled him out. Free to linger, Kaeya leaned against a nearby pillar, quietly observing the proceedings and occasionally chiming in to corroborate Chris's alibi.
Once the police moved on to the next suspect and their immediate vicinity cleared, Kaeya closed the distance between them. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting past Vermouth's ear.
"The one who made the move today was Kenzo Masuyama, wasn't it?" he whispered.
It was phrased as a question, but the absolute certainty in his voice made it a statement of fact.
Vermouth masked her shock with a practiced, sultry smile. "Oh? And how exactly did you figure that out?"
"I saw it," Kaeya replied simply, his single visible eye locking onto hers.
Vermouth's smile didn't waver, but her eyes screamed disbelief.
Kaeya sighed softly. 'They never believe the truth. Always forcing me to bring out the evidence.'
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his smartphone. He tapped the screen, pulling up a pre-published article from tomorrow's early edition newspaper that had just leaked online. He zoomed in on a specific photograph and casually handed the device to Vermouth.
She took the phone, her curiosity piqued. It was a candid shot taken inside the memorial hall, capturing two figures embracing just as the lights had dimmed.
At first glance, it was nothing but a blurry society photo. She frowned, wondering what game the Cavalry Captain was playing, until Kaeya reached over and tapped a finger against the bottom left corner of the screen.
Vermouth's gaze tracked his finger.
In the shadowy background, illuminated only by the faint flash of a camera, an elderly man could be seen raising a silenced pistol toward the ceiling chandelier.
The moment the realization clicked, Vermouth's flawless mask cracked. Her expression hardened into something cold, sharp, and uncontrollably grim.
"I have to say," Kaeya murmured, smoothly plucking the phone back from her rigid grip. "That is some spectacularly bad luck, isn't it?"
For a rare moment, Vermouth was entirely speechless. A high-profile assassination caught on camera and leaked to the internet before the police even finished their preliminary investigation? It was absurd. The only thing that came close to this level of sheer, unadulterated misfortune was Tequila getting blown to pieces by a misplaced briefcase bomb a while back.
Worse still, this catastrophic blunder had been laid bare right in front of the Organization's prospective new partner. Vermouth seriously debated finding a local shrine to burn some incense; the Organization's luck had been abysmal lately.
She took a slow, measured breath, forcing her heart rate back to normal.
In the grand scheme of things, Pisco was expendable. The Organization operated on absolute secrecy; anyone who compromised that, even a veteran executive, would be discarded without hesitation. Her shock stemmed purely from the sheer audacity of seeing an Organization hit plastered across the entertainment headlines. She had even handed Pisco her own purple handkerchief earlier to help him evade police suspicion.
Despite the churning frustration, Vermouth betrayed nothing to the surrounding crowd. She played the role of the cooperative celebrity perfectly, making no sudden movements and showing absolutely zero intention of warning Pisco. Instead, she waited for the exact moment the detectives turned their backs.
With practiced stealth, her fingers flew across her hidden phone keypad, drafting a secure message to Gin. The hidden danger had to be excised. Gin would handle the cleanup.
The waiting game continued. Without hard evidence, the police could only detain the guests for a maximum of two hours. With the initial questioning having eaten up a good chunk of that time, they only had about an hour left to kill.
"What?" Vermouth's voice suddenly spiked, breaking her calm facade. Realizing a few nearby officers had turned to look, she quickly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "Did you just say you aren't cooperating with the Organization as a representative of the Ragnvindr Family?"
Kaeya blinked, a picture of innocent confusion. "When did I ever claim that? Come now, I'm merely an adopted orphan of the Ragnvindr household. An outsider, really. The current head of the family enterprise is my sworn brother, and let's just say our relationship isn't exactly warm. What kind of authority do you think I have to negotiate on behalf of the entire Ragnvindr estate?"
Watching Vermouth's eyes widen in genuine astonishment, Kaeya let out a low, amused chuckle. He quickly moved to placate her. "Don't look so worried. The items I'm bringing to the trading table absolutely will not disappoint you. I guarantee they are worth their weight in gold."
"They had better be," Vermouth muttered, exhaling a long, helpless sigh. She could only offer a vague warning. The Boss had personally greenlit this cooperation; she couldn't unilaterally terminate it without a damn good reason, regardless of Kaeya's actual standing within his family.
The two hours finally expired. Having exhausted all their leads and lacking any concrete evidence to hold the crowd, Inspector Megure reluctantly ordered his men to release the guests.
As the crowd filtered out, both Kaeya and Vermouth caught sight of Kenzo Masuyama subtly breaking away from the main group, heading toward the old mansion annex.
Neither made a move to stop him.
Kaeya watched the old man's retreating back with a hidden smirk. He knew the plot. With Conan running interference, Ai Haibara would survive the night, no matter how dangerous it got.
Vermouth, having already set the execution in motion, knew exactly why Pisco was heading to the wine cellar. Gin was waiting. There was no need for her to dirty her own hands.
"Let's go," Vermouth murmured, adjusting her coat. "We'll wait outside the restaurant entrance. The cleanup should be handled quickly."
They stepped out into the biting cold. True to Vermouth's word, a sleek, vintage black Porsche 356A soon cut through the falling snow, pulling up silently to the curb.
Kaeya followed Vermouth, pulling open the heavy door and sliding into the plush back seat.
The moment the door clicked shut, the heavy scent of tobacco hit him, followed immediately by the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. Kaeya's gaze flicked to the front passenger seat. Gin sat there, his long silver hair spilling over his dark coat, calmly taking a drag from a cigarette as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Kaeya mentally noted the scent. It had to be from the gunshot wound Gin had inflicted upon his own arm to stay awake after taking one of Conan's tranquilizer darts. If he hadn't smelled the blood himself, Kaeya might have assumed he had misremembered the timeline and that Gin had somehow avoided injury tonight.
"So, this is the infamous Gin," Kaeya drawled, leaning forward slightly, his tone laced with casual curiosity. "Rum mentioned you. The Organization's top killer. But... it smells like you're bleeding."
Gin's brow twitched. A sharp exhale of smoke plumed in the dim cabin, betraying his irritation. He despised the fact that Rum had been casually leaking Organization intelligence to an outsider.
At the mention of his injury, the temperature in the car plummeted.
Gin sneered. In a blur of motion, his left hand whipped up, the cold steel barrel of a Beretta M1934 leveling directly at the space between Kaeya's eyes. The killing intent rolling off the silver-haired man was suffocating.
"Don't do anything unnecessary," Gin growled, his voice a gravelly rasp. "This incident has nothing to do with your little arrangement. Cointreau is the person in charge of your cooperation with the Organization. Keep your nose out of our business."
Kaeya didn't flinch at the gun in his face. Instead, a slow, intrigued smile spread across his lips.
"Cointreau?" he repeated, tasting the unfamiliar codename on his tongue.
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