HONOR, DIGNITY, AND PRIDE

Honor, Dignity, and Pride 6

CHAPTER 1: Whispers Beneath the Masks (Part 3)

Scene 4: Kürşad and Chairman İlkay Bey (Betrayal in the Dark Room)

I quietly wiped the brass doorknob of the locked VIP study on the upper floor with my damp cloth. The muffled groans and rhythmic breathing coming from inside seeped through the wooden door, mixing with the damp air of the hallway.

The scent here was distinct: the heavy aroma of expensive leather armchairs blended with the sharp vanilla perfume of the foreign banker woman who was a major partner in the holding.

Leaning back into the shadows of the hallway, I pulled out a tiny, fingernail-sized night-vision spy camera salvaged from the industrial microscopes at the worm farm. With absolute precision, I mounted it inside the keyhole's brass fitting.

The feed on my handheld monitor came into focus.

The Chairman of Tekton Holding—the very man who gave grand public speeches on morality and honor—was engaged in an illicit affair on his desk with the foreign banker to whom he diverted corporate funds. Sweat glistened on the woman's back. I recorded İlkay’s lustful, animalistic expressions and his greedy eyes frame by frame. With a faint click, I transferred the recording to a hard drive.

My Inner Voice (Kürşad):

Record it, Kürşad... record every single second. While you preach 'Tekton Holding is expanding into global markets' on television screens on Monday, the entire world will watch how you hollowed out this company with this woman, İlkay. While you begrudged our pennies down below, you were squandering corporate funds with bankers up here. Your wife Sevgül is waiting for an opportunity to oust you from your Chairman seat, but she doesn't know that I hold the reins to both of your fates between my calloused fingers. You will pay the price for this vile tape while thrashing for your life inside the acidic tank at the Worm Farm.

I knocked lightly on the door twice. The sounds inside ceased instantly. I heard İlkay’s panicked, angry voice from within: "Who's out there?"

Adopting my most meek, ordinary waiter voice, I leaned toward the door. "Forgive me, İlkay Bey. Berlin Hanım sent fresh champagne for your desk. I am leaving it by the door," I said, detaching the camera and retreating quickly into the shadows.

Scene 5: Kürşad, Sevgül Hanım, and Marut Bey (Forbidden Affair with the Silent Partner)

I stood before the iron door of the mansion’s century-old conservatory overlooking the Bosphorus. The air inside was laden with the damp scent of exotic leaves and soil—much like my worm farm. But behind these plants, another form of corruption was taking root.

I peered through the dense palm fronds. Sevgül, that noble woman in the emerald gown, was in the arms of Marut Bey, the marble-faced silent partner of the holding. Marut’s icy, calculated demeanor was gone, replaced by ravenous lust. He gripped Sevgül’s waist so tightly that her diamond bracelets clinked rhythmically against the buttons of his jacket.

"İlkay knows everything, Marut," Sevgül whispered, breathless with fear and desire. She pressed her lips against Marut’s neck. "He knows about the affair with that boy in the basement archive room. He’s going to end everything on Monday."

Marut offered a cold, ruthless smile as he gripped the woman's chin. "Let him talk, Sevgül," he said, his voice like a slithering snake. "First thing Monday morning, I’ll short the holding’s stock to rock bottom. İlkay will be ruined. You and I... will become the new owners of the holding. Until then, keep smiling at that fool."

Using a high-resolution lens concealed inside my jacket button, I recorded every detail of their repulsive encounter. Husband and wife were digging graves for one another to plunder the company, producing blackmail tapes in foreign beds.

My Inner Voice (Kürşad):

The noble and chaste Sevgül Hanım... and her pious, silent partner Marut Bey. If you only knew how bright your conspiracy shines on camera. You were so comfortable plotting to ruin the holding's stock, make billions, and rob the workers of their rights. But when I bind the two of you together atop the industrial sludge tank at the Worm Farm, just as the trapdoor beneath you is about to open, will your stock graphs save you? You'll tear at each other's throats inside that acidic mud. Your honor and your shares will drown together at the bottom of that sewer.

I stepped deliberately on some leaves, creating a soft rustle. Marut’s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Who's there?" he barked.

Holding up my empty tray, I stepped out from the bushes. "My deep apologies, sir. I came to check the lights in the conservatory. I'm leaving right away," I said, bowing my head and walking away with a covert smile.

Scene 6: Kürşad and Süphan Bey (Facing the Monster)

We crossed paths in the darkest corner of the corridor, just outside the exit of the upper-floor VIP lounge. Süphan Bey was buttoning his jacket with his usual warm, paternal smile while clicking his amber prayer beads.

Yet the scent wafting from him was unmistakable: behind the cover of body powder and fresh mint candies lay the vile odor of rotten old age and sweat. I immediately caught the sadistic, narcissistic glint in his eyes. The gratification he derived from hurting his victims hung on his lips in a trail of greasy saliva.

As I extended the silver tray toward him, I deliberately locked my eyes onto his. Normally, a waiter would never dare to do so. Süphan stopped in his tracks. His sweet grandfather facade vanished instantly, his eyes narrowing like a predator's.

"How dare you look at me like that, boy?" Süphan said. His voice was a far cry from his public persona—raspy, menacing, and dripping with narcissistic pride. "Know your place. Or you'll leave those eyes behind in this mansion. I am the foundation of this company."

My Inner Voice (Kürşad):

You're the foundation, are you, Süphan Bey? Behind that sweet grandfather mask, do you think I don't know what vile contraptions you imported under the guise of international procurement, or what atrocities you committed against your own grandchild? For seven years, I cataloged those procurement invoices, the hush-money payments pulled from accounting, and the covert footage of those sadistic sessions from the hidden cameras I installed in your basement. You thrive on inflicting pain, don't you? Don't worry. In the 'Sadist's Trap' mechanism I built specifically for you, you will feel that beloved pain in your own flesh while the entire holding watches the monster behind your sweet mask. Every click of those prayer beads is a tick on your countdown.

Without breaking my stoic expression, I bowed my head slightly.

"Forgive me, Süphan Bey, I was distracted. Here is your mineral water, sir," I said.

Süphan snatched the glass from my tray, pulling his prayer beads tight. "Don't cross my path again, you wretched thing," he muttered, gliding back toward the hall with sinister, aging steps.

CHAPTER 2: The Great Trap and Room 1 (The Confession Room)

The time was precisely 9:58 PM.

In the lavish salon of the mansion, champagne flowed like water, and the flattery of sycophants hung thick in the air. No one noticed the odorless, colorless, subtly sweet gas beginning to seep through the main ventilation grates. At that very moment, the colorless liquid poured into the exclusive Scotch whiskies and champagnes—served by myself and a few trusted men—had already dissolved seamlessly among the ice cubes.

First, the glass in Mrs. Petek’s hand crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Clutching her head, she collapsed across the bar counter. Within seconds, the loud music in the salon was severed by the heavy, suffocating gasps of the guests.

"My head... I feel so dizzy," Mr. Erman muttered, attempting to set his crystal glass down on the table. But the strength had drained from his fingers. The glass plummeted onto the parquet flooring, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Mr. İlkay, Mrs. Sevgül, Cevdet the Ferret, Mr. Marut, and Süphan the Grandfather behind his charming mask... All eight of them, alongside hundreds of other guests in the salon, slowly crumpled to the ground where they stood, floating down like fallen leaves. A deep, deathly slumber overtook the mansion. No one would ever know who was taken where. The extravagant masquerade ball had reached its finale in collective unconsciousness.