Chapter 8 Incentives for Malice
Brandon had been pulled away by Isabella moments earlier, and in the blink of an eye, she had vanished.
The fact that she could disappear so easily made Brandon nervous—after all, "taking care of Isabella" was the most important task his father had entrusted to him.
Seeing Isabella waving at Stephen, Brandon exhaled in relief and approached them. "So you came to the garden? You could have told me you were seeing Dr. York off instead of making me search everywhere for you."
"Sorry, Brandon. I just wanted to discuss Mother's condition with Stephen." Isabella replied.
"What did Dr. York say?"
"Well... I'll tell you later."
"What?" Brandon looked puzzled.
Isabella paused, then continued, "Actually, Brandon, I can't keep this from you. Mother's illness—someone may have deliberately caused it."
"What? That can't be right." Brandon was stunned. "How did you figure that out? Did Dr. York just tell you?"
"Brandon, I'm actually a witch." Isabella said with complete seriousness.
Brandon stared for a moment, then burst into laughter. "A witch? The kind that brews magic potions?"
Isabella nodded solemnly. "Yes, I can make magic potions that make people faint, wake up, or lose their memory."
Brandon doubled over with laughter. "Isabella, have you been watching too many cartoons?"
Isabella pointed randomly at a gardener working nearby. "Brandon, do you believe I can read his entire life story with just a deck of tarot cards?"
"Even if you could, he wouldn't dare admit it." Brandon teased. "Besides, who can predict the future? Just read his present life then. Go ahead, I'm listening."
Brandon crossed his arms, watching Isabella seriously pull out her cards and spread them across her lap for the reading.
After a few minutes, Isabella stood up and pointed at the hat-wearing gardener. "He's between 35 and 38 years old, born near the coast. He has no parents, or rather, he was separated from them in childhood. He lives with an unrelated elder, has one sister and two daughters, but no wife."
Hearing Isabella's words, Brandon was stunned. He wasn't familiar with every worker and servant in the Tudor household, so he couldn't verify whether Isabella was right or wrong. He could only wave at the hat-wearing worker.
Seeing the young master calling him, the worker quickly set down his long pruning shears and hurried over. "Mr. Tudor, you called for me?"
"I'm asking you—are you an orphan?"
The worker paused, taken aback. Though the question was somewhat rude, he had to answer whatever his employer asked, so he shook his head. "No, I'm not."
Seeing the man shake his head, Brandon patted Isabella's arm, as if to say, "See? Your fortune-telling was off this time."
Isabella caught Brandon's look suggesting he thought she was a fraud, so she defiantly pushed his hand away. "Let me ask."
She asked several more questions, and the worker nodded in confirmation to each one. Finally, Isabella asked again whether he was an orphan, and this time the worker nodded with tears in his eyes.
It turned out he had initially denied it because thinking about his parents' early death made him sad, so he generally avoided admitting he was an orphan.
Brandon looked surprised. "Do you and my sister know each other?"
The man quickly shook his head. "No, we don't."
He didn't know who this young woman standing so casually with Brandon was, but given how freely she spoke with the young master, she must be a Tudor family relative. He didn't dare offend her, but he also wouldn't lie to Brandon.
Isabella then looked up at Brandon with a triumphant expression.
Brandon pursed his lips. "I'll give you credit—your divination skills have some real substance to them."
"Brandon, I actually wanted to prove to you that I also did a reading for Mother earlier."
"So you went through all this trouble because you were afraid I wouldn't believe what you had to say?" Brandon ruffled Isabella's hair. "You don't need to prove yourself to me. Whatever you say, I'll believe you."
Ten minutes later
Brandon pulled Isabella into a secluded gazebo.
"You said someone used witchcraft to harm Mother—who would do such a thing?" His brow furrowed. "Mother spends all her time in that building, doesn't go out to work, hasn't offended any outsiders. She doesn't interact with many people. What would anyone gain from harming her? If someone wanted to hurt someone, wouldn't Father be a more logical target with more enemies? Could this be someone targeting Father but hitting the wrong person?"
Brandon was puzzling over the motive for the attack.
Isabella looked up to see a figure standing on the second floor of the main building—a woman in a black business suit speaking to several servants, who were all nodding and bowing obsequiously, clearly intimidated by her.
"She certainly wears many masks." Isabella said quietly. "Brandon, she'd have the strongest motive, wouldn't she?"
Brandon followed Isabella's gaze. "You mean Jennifer?"
"Would you believe me?"
Brandon frowned but nodded. "I would, Isabella. I told you—I'll believe whatever you tell me."
Isabella took a deep breath. "I think we need to investigate our dear aunt. Brandon, what you said earlier wasn't quite right—there are actually quite a few people in this house with motives. But Jennifer definitely has the strongest one!"
Brandon wasn't oblivious to Jennifer's feelings, of course. But Jennifer had always been good to him. After her husband died young, she came to her sister's family with her daughter. She didn't just freeload—she helped Raymond manage the entire Tudor household.
She was like a head housekeeper, rising at five in the morning and not sleeping until ten at night, devoted to the Tudor family. Few could find fault with her, and she had trained all the servants to be perfectly polite and obedient.
Her care for his father also seemed to stay within appropriate bounds, which was why Brandon hesitated.
"Men see women differently than women see women," Isabella said softly.
She casually picked up a pair of large pruning shears left in the gazebo.
She always felt that Jennifer looked at her with rejection and disgust, but she wouldn't share that feeling with Brandon. She would definitely investigate the truth, and if someone had harmed her family, she would make them pay dearly!
Isabella opened and closed the large shears, making sharp "snip" sounds.
The Jennifer on the second floor had somehow disappeared from the window.
The Thornton Villa
"Daddy, didn't you say that bitch Isabella was some whore's bastard? Then who were those people who came to pick her up at the TV station that day? And that Hamilton man—was he really Jonathan?" Stella couldn't sleep, still seething over the image of Isabella being escorted by that fleet of Bentleys.
Gareth leaned back on the sofa, lit a cigarette, and blew a smoke ring. "After you and your mother went to the TV station that day, I looked into it based on your descriptions. I figure those people were actors Isabella hired."
Julia chimed in, "Darling, you're absolutely right! This is Eltheron—what kind of person travels with thirty or fifty cars in their entourage? Even if royalty were touring, they wouldn't have such an elaborate procession!"
"Dad, are you sure you didn't find anything? Mom, do you remember that man who called Isabella 'sister'? He couldn't be anyone important, could he?"
Gareth shook his head. "I couldn't find any impressive background on him. I couldn't even find his real name. He's probably just a nobody."