Number 06 │ A Leverage Fanfiction

The King George Job | Part 2

[Porter's – Afternoon Tea]

The rich scent of aged wood and expensive tea filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation from London's elite.

Nate sat at the bar, swirling a glass of whiskey, eyes flicking toward Sophie. "I'm about to revisit the topic of you being overinvested." His voice was low, edged with caution. "You want to run a passion-based game on a man who bankrolls terrorists?"

Sophie lifted her chin. "Exactly. End of the day, you always go here—" she tapped her temple, "whereas I go here." she pointed at her chest. "But for a mark who always lives in his head—" his gaze flickered toward Keller, seated nearby, posture stiff with control "—the heart con is the only one that works."

Nate's grip tightened around his glass. "Heart cons are dangerous, Sophie. If they flame out, it's like igniting jet fuel."

Sophie didn't hesitate. "Yeah?" Her voice softened, just a little. "Tell that to the little girl sitting in an immigration holding cell."

Nate studied her, then sighed, tipping his glass toward her in reluctant acknowledgment. "Good luck."

Sophie turned on her heel and strode toward Keller's table. Keller stood as she approached, a smooth smile on his face. "Your grace. Allow me."

Ever the gentleman, He pulled out her chair and a waiter stepped forward, pouring tea.

Keller didn't waste time. "That was quite a claim you made yesterday. Can you back it up?"

Sophie stirred her tea, slow and deliberate, "There are 86 lost, or dormant, baronies. The Queen doesn't approve of titles lying fallow." She lifted her gaze, calm, assured. "That said, claiming one without the proper documentation? Almost impossible."

Keller leaned forward slightly, the mask of politeness slipping just enough to reveal his hunger. "I've done some research in that area myself. It's been... less than fruitful."

Sophie smiled knowingly. "Birth certificates, church records, even entire family trees—submitted for consideration, only to be dismissed." She let the moment stretch before delivering the hook. "But if you were to meet the Earl Marshal with the private journal of a royal ancestor?" She paused, then let her voice drop to a whisper. "Even the Queen herself couldn't refuse you."

Keller's eyes sharpened. "A private journal? Belonging to?"

Sophie took a sip of tea, savoring the moment. "The mistress of King George III."

Silence. Then, a quiet chuckle. "That's a myth, isn't it?"

She tilted her head, amused. "As you know, George's reign ended in abject failure—the loss of the colonies, an incurable illness, a dim-witted son poised to take the throne. But the one thing he succeeded at?" She let her words settle. "Protecting his mistress, Catherine."

Keller's expression didn't change, but I could tell—he was listening.

Sophie leaned in slightly. "In a rare moment of clarity, in the last throes of his disease, he sent a pregnant Catherine to America with a trunk full of treasure. And Catherine? She kept a diary."

Keller's jaw tightened. "That's never been proven."

Sophie let out a small, knowing laugh. "Of course not. Some say she became a commoner in Massachusetts. Some say she died at sea. Some say she never left London at all. No one knows." She let her next words land like a promise wrapped in silk.

"But a man who holds her book... could claim direct descent to Catherine."

Keller's breath was slow, measured. His fingers tapped once against the table.