The other goblins turned their gaze toward the speaker.
"This is reckless," another goblin hissed. "This is no trivial matter. If we are discovered, we face annihilation. Look at the human wizards—they have grown far too advanced. Too powerful!"
The first goblin gritted his teeth. "Then what do we do? We must prepare for the worst. We don't even know the true extent of the Cavendish family's resources. If they undercut our rates indefinitely, Gringotts is doomed. We need to ensure those humans realize the Cavendish family is unreliable!"
"Only then will they keep their wealth with us. We must undermine their credibility. The best way? A raid. We have no choice but to act."
"This is a matter of survival," the lead goblin declared, his voice rising. "We cannot hesitate! If we are careful, no one will discover us. If the Cavendish family replaces us, we will be reduced to servitude—no better than house-elves!"
The goblins stiffened at the comparison to house-elves.
In their eyes, house-elves were no longer true magical beings. They were mere servants, kept by wizards.
None of them wanted that fate.
They enjoyed their positions in Gringotts; they had no desire to grovel.
The goblins exchanged glances, their resolve hardening.
"Fine. We strike tonight. We raid Cavendish Tower. But we must be discreet, well-disguised. Absolutely no witnesses."
Their eyes gleamed with deadly intent.
As for failure? Inconceivable.
Human wizards were no match for them in direct combat.
Their historical defeats were due to overwhelming numbers, not individual skill.
But one goblin who had spoken smiled—a cold, calculating glint in his eye.
After the high-level meeting concluded, this goblin retreated to his office and drank a vial of Polyjuice Potion.
He transformed instantly into human form, donned a black robe, and slipped out of Gringotts.
He headed straight for Cavendish Tower.
Old Tom, stationed at the reception, saw the disguised goblin and handed his work to another attendant.
He led the "human" to the top floor.
In the office, Erwin sipped his coffee, relaxed.
"Master," Old Tom said.
Erwin glanced at the transformed goblin and smiled. "I was concerned Polyjuice Potion wouldn't work effectively on goblins."
The goblin bowed low. "Your potion is superior, my lord. It functions perfectly."
"Speak," Erwin commanded.
The goblin relayed the raid plan in detail.
Erwin laughed. "Well done. Now we have justification to eliminate them, but it's not quite enough. Remember your duty."
The goblin nodded nervously. "My lord, and my promised reward?"
Erwin's voice was calm. "When these goblins are reduced to servitude, you will be granted your freedom. A free goblin—a rare thing indeed."
The goblin exhaled in relief. "Thank you, my lord. I serve you faithfully."
Erwin waved him away.
The goblin departed.
Old Tom watched him leave. "Master, we've extracted all useful information from him."
Erwin nodded. "Yes. Have our people monitor him. He lives two more days—long enough to maintain appearances. The fewer who know the truth, the better. It's unfortunate these creatures never learn."
Old Tom chuckled. "Exactly. Becoming house-elves would actually be safer for them. The magical world is dangerous; one wrong move and you're eliminated."
Erwin nodded. "Tonight is yours to manage. No survivors. Rita is prepared. Make this a public spectacle."
Old Tom bowed. "Understood, Master. Everything is arranged. Tomorrow, the Daily Prophet will headline their attack on Cavendish Tower."
Erwin waved his hand.
Old Tom vanished without a sound.
Erwin leaned back in his chair, swirling his coffee.
Almost complete.
Once the British magical world was entirely stabilized, he could expand operations to other countries.
Resources were always valuable—more assets meant better chances in the final confrontation.
But they needed to be substantial enough to matter.
Night fell over London.
Erwin returned to Cavendish Manor, washed, and retired for the evening.
He left the operation to Old Tom; his personal involvement wasn't necessary.
Old Tom would handle it flawlessly.
While Erwin slept, Diagon Alley was silent.
The shops were closed, shadows stretching long across the cobblestones.
Cavendish Tower stood dark and seemingly unguarded.
Then, movement.
From Gringotts, several figures clad in black robes slipped into the night, racing toward the Tower.
The Tower appeared eerily still.
They infiltrated easily, making their way toward the underground storage facilities.
Solid steel doors lined the corridors.
A cautious goblin frowned. "Too easy. Something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," another hissed. "The Cavendish family is arrogant. They think no one dares challenge them."
The cautious goblin hesitated, but the others pressed forward.
Then, the lights blazed on.
Bright, blinding light flooded the storage area.
The goblins froze, panic seizing them.
Cavendish operatives emerged from concealment, wands raised, cold smiles on their faces.
Old Tom stepped forward, his voice glacial.
"Welcome."
The goblins shrieked, "A trap! Retreat!"
Old Tom sneered.
"Eliminate them all. Leave no survivors."
The wizards attacked in unison. Spells erupted, overwhelming the goblins.