Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Before the Storm — Business Negotiations

“Mr. Lintner, forgive my intrusion.”

As the carriage rolled smoothly forward, Terry finally withdrew his head from the window and spoke cautiously.

As the head of a large trading firm, he was accustomed to gathering intelligence from all sides, but he also understood the laws of survival: never touch a client’s forbidden zones. Yet, this was the fifth time this month he had “happened” to give Mr. Lintner a lift, helping him evade the equally mysterious Miss Eyre.

Seeing how naturally Mr. Lintner had signaled for help at the street corner earlier, Terry assumed the man wouldn’t mind a partner’s concerned inquiry.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Terry said, phrasing his curiosity as a professional concern. “But as a partner, I’ve noticed you and Miss Eyre seem to be constantly missing each other during handovers lately. Mr. John Eyre intends for the two of you to work closely in the future; such inconveniences might affect efficiency.”

Sure enough, the hood moved slightly. A gloved hand emerged from the cloak, picking up the pen and paper placed between the seats. The nib scratched across the paper, and a note was handed over.

Mr. Terry worries too much. It is not a conflict, merely a scheduling arrangement for different stages.

The handwriting was sharp and cold. Terry was about to agree when he saw the person tap the bottom of the note, indicating he should flip it over. On the back, there was another line:

[The current separation is for closer cooperation in the future. The merchant Eyre needs independent space, and I have layouts that must be completed.]

Seeing the meticulously neutral term “Merchant Eyre,” Terry marveled once again at Lintner’s obsession with confidentiality. The man didn’t mind being asked, but he clearly had zero intention of sharing personal details. The response was polite, distant, and carried an undeniable sense of control.

Terry almost wanted to give a bitter smile. For the past few years, he thought they had become “friends.” Today, he realized his understanding of this person remained solely on their ruthless business efficiency.

“To the firm,” Terry instructed the driver as the carriage stopped.

The sky was clear, and the sea sparkled under the sun. On the docks, workers dripped with sweat, moving between ships and warehouses. Today, however, many eyes wandered toward the harbor.

A giant Dutch-flagged galleon was anchored in the main channel. Its hull was massive, built for the punishing waves of the Far East. It radiated an aura of silent pressure.

A figure in a black cloak walked steadily toward it.

“Mr. Lintner, this way please.”

Hendriks, the first mate of the ship, greeted her. “The Pride of Amsterdam is the largest in our fleet. Having just returned from Batavia, she’s laden with cloves and nutmeg. The scent alone has changed the smell of the whole dock.”

Lin Zhao’s hood tilted in acknowledgment. Her senses had already picked up the blend of salty sea air and Eastern spices.

“You’ve been here four times this month, Mr. Lintner,” Hendriks noted. “The porters are betting on whether you want to buy the ship or steal our charts.”

Lin Zhao handed over a note: [Opportunities do not wait, Mr. Hendriks. Especially when they arrive on the wind.

He led her to an office at the end of the dock. “Captain Van Dru is in a good mood. He said he’s willing to hear about this ‘East India Company Wine’ business of yours, to see if you really have the nerve to snatch food from a giant’s plate.”

He opened the heavy wooden door. Inside sat a burly, weathered man—Captain Van Dru. He puffed on a pipe, scrutinizing her with sun-darkened eyes.

“Sit,” Van Dru rasped. “They say you’re the ‘Ghost of Madeira’ who knows which mast a seagull will land on tomorrow. Why has this ghost drifted onto my ship?”

Lin Zhao stepped to the table and handed him the first note: I am here to talk business regarding the East India Company.

Van Dru let out a playful, cold laugh. “The EIC… I hate those arrogant Englishmen and their Royal Charters, but I can’t deny their orders are tempting. However, they have their own fleet. Why would they give a Dutchman the time of day?”

Lin Zhao handed over the second note: The EIC never has enough ships. They often need to rent reliable, neutral vessels to ease the pressure of cargo. Captain, would you like the Pride of Amsterdam to appear on their priority rental list?

The Captain froze. He leaned forward. “Young man, do you know what you’re saying? That list is decided by the big shots at Leadenhall Street in London. You can influence them? Who do you think you are? The incarnation of the Bank of England?”

Lin Zhao remained unmoved and presented the third note: I can. As proof of my sincerity, I can arrange for your ship to carry a portion of this wine order—highly profitable. And this is only the beginning.

The mockery on Van Dru’s face vanished, replaced by extreme gravity. He realized this wasn’t just a deal; it was access to power. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch. What is your price?”

Lin Zhao delivered the final note: My terms are simple. First, I need to rent Warehouse No. 3 on your lowest deck for one month to store a batch of wine. Second, I require your absolute silence.

She paused, then tapped the back of the note with a gloved finger. Van Dru flipped it over to find a piece of top-secret “proof”:

Proof: Next Tuesday, the EIC’s Victoria will secretly enter the port. Procurement Chief Phillips will come ashore. My letter of recommendation will reach his desk before he even sets foot on the island.

Van Dru’s breath hitched. A single warehouse and silence in exchange for a golden ticket to the EIC’s official carrier list. The risk-to-reward ratio was so lopsided it was lethally tempting.

He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the brazier. “A warehouse in exchange for a ticket to the Golden Route… I’ve spent my life gambling on the sea. No reason to refuse the biggest bet of all. Deal!”

Stepping out of the cabin, the sun made Lin Zhao squint. The plan had begun a month ago in London. On her last night there, she hadn’t stayed at the inn; she had infiltrated London’s intelligence networks.

She had discovered that the EIC’s longtime supplier—the massive Ferreira Winery—was facing a crisis. A devastating root louse infestation had decimated their harvest. Meanwhile, EIC’s influence in India was waning, making them desperate for stability and cost-efficiency.

A giant vacancy was about to open up. The only ones in Madeira capable of filling it were the Eyres and the Harrisons. Having already repaid her debt to the Harrisons regarding Eleanor’s marriage, it was now time to set the stage for Jane.

Emerging from her professional thoughts, her heart was pricked by a name she couldn’t avoid.

Jane.

Her avoidance of the girl was merely a momentary impulse. She stopped her pace toward the exit of the docks and turned to look at the sea.

The blue of the sea and sky were indistinguishable. She remembered standing on the deck of the ship to Madeira years ago with Jane, seeing this same horizon. Though she was now a “Fairy Godmother” and “Mr. Lintner,” in the vastness of the sea, she felt like what she truly was:

A ghost who didn’t belong to this world.