By 9:30 am, Mr. Junior had moved out of his study and into his private basement. The house maids were busy entertaining themselves, sat at the grand table drinking tea and talking each other to death. The reason why he had moved was because he was being distracted by a sense of paranoia. Eyes that he couldn't see felt like they were sticking to him, making him nervous. Noises from the hallways that started quietly became louder, and he realised that a cold sweat had soaked his black suit, making him feel uncomfortable. He was convinced that either the young maid, known as Lady Isabel, or Madam Tracy were playing games with him.
After he moved the large chests, he had had to suss out if what he believed was true, but he when he got to the beginning of the dinning room and secretly peaked at them, all of the maids seemed to be present, and then in a confused state he went to his master bedroom to shower.
Now, he was sat on the blue armchair with one of the chests in between his feet. He unlocked the latch and lifted the lid, brown envelopes were stacked neatly, thick as can be. They were sorted into different categories with different labels on them. He got off the chair and sat down on the floor as he began to order the information, which took him a while. There was so many envelopes that by the time he had spread them all out he had no idea where to start.
His lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him, his eyes were becoming blurry as he scanned the top of each pile, but then he realised a particular label: The Inherited debt.
He disregarded the rest of the piles, grabbing that particular envelop and opening it, revealing a thick collection of letters and documents that seemed to go back many years.
Mr. Ward Junior took some time to read and understand the transactions that had been going on, but when he looked up and realised that there was another four envelopes in this pile, he checked his pocket watch, 10:12 am.
From what Mr. Gregory had told him, he knew the amount of money that he needed to pay, but he started to wonder about what exactly his father had been up to whilst he was alive.
After powering through a long yawn, he opened the rest of the four envelops and thoroughly scanned the contents inside.
Mr. P had been sending various sums into his father's bank account, there had been transactions back and forth for what seemed like the past eight years, and none of them were small sums.
The letters that had been sent back and forth were simple, straight forward, giving no real information to go off, goading a considerable amount of curiosity that Mr. Junior planned to feed into.
There was just one problem that he had to figure out first.
Where did Mr. P live?
There was no address among the numbers or letters, and Mr. Junior hardly knew what he would run into beyond the woodlands and hills that the house stood near.
For now though, a more pressing matter was that Mr. Junior was suffering with severe pain in his head, he had a mild burning sensation in his upper abdomen, and he was in need of rest before he thought about dealing with the mysterious road ahead.
Getting up off the floor, he walked back out of the basement and locked it behind himself, then, with as quick a pace as he could muster, he navigated the long hallways, eventually getting onto his private wing where he was met by Madam Tracy.
"I've come to bring you the daily newspaper," she said, "it was brought at the usual time, but you were nowhere to be seen. I also wanted to thank you for joining us for breakfast, maybe you could join us for lunch?"
Mr. Junior looked at the newspaper in Madam Tracy's hand, he wasn't interested in anything but sleeping and figuring out how he was to proceed with finding Mr. P.
He looked back at her deep blue eyes after a couple of moments. Her face was looking expectant, her cheeks held a slight red flush about them, she was a brunet, small, no taller than 5'3, her body looked curvy in the black dress that she wore, and her beauty had always intrigued him, ever since he had first seen her as a young boy.
She held out the newspaper before him, but as he went to grab it, she put it behind her back with a mischievous look on her face.
"Can it be my turn today, Mr. Junior?" she whispered. "My turn to play, Mr. Junior? Can you hide me away, Mr Junior? Because I want to play, Mr. Junior? I need you to say, Mr. Junior, that you feel the same, Mr. Junior. I will feel the pain, Mr. Junior, if you turn away, Mr. Junior. So what do you say, Mr. Junior?"
As she said this, she slowly approached him with a dreamy look in her beautiful eyes, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her smell was a steamy coconut and shea butter.
She was standing on her tiptoes as she kissed his neck, his hands clutched on her butt cheeks, and shortly after he led her to his master bedroom, their clothes were ripped off, he pushed her onto the bed and went down onto his knees, where the fun was about to begin.
Soft moans oozed out of her uncontrollably, she felt as if her breath was being sucked away from her lungs, legs shaking, his tongue caressing her vagina, mixing saliva with her wetness.
Madam Tracy's mind was elevated, she could feel everything that came her way, like her body had become severely sensitive towards any touch, and she didn't want it to stop, she felt like she was in paradise; and when she felt Mr. Junior stop momentarily as his upper body arched over her, his hand pressing his dick into her tight whole, a loud bang against the bedroom wall startled them out of their zone.
They sat on the bed and turned to each other with serious, wanting looks.
Mr. Junior quietly got up and put on his trousers before opening the door and looking out. A glance of ginger hair down the hallway captured his attention, and Lady Isabel turned around to meet his eye before disappearing around a corner.