“I’ve worked hard to build that company,” Harwood replied, voice tightening. “I didn’t think it necessary to share every detail.”
Evander studied him, and he saw the shift now, the small cracks forming in Harwood’s polished exterior.
“It makes me wonder what else you haven’t shared,” Warwicke pressed.
Harwood let out an irritated breath. “Why are you even here?”
Warwicke wandered over to the mantel, his movements deliberately casual. “Because once I discovered your little secret, I dug deeper. And do you know what I found?”
“I don’t care?—”
“Your company owned the ship that supposedly carried your brother and the late Lord Westmere to India. The one they allegedly died on.”
Evander stiffened.
“That’s a coincidence,” Harwood snapped.
“Is it?” Warwicke’s smile was thin. “Because when I tracked down the captain, he didn’t remember your brother or Bryon ever boarding the vessel. Though their names were on the manifest.”
Harwood’s expression remained impassive. “A clerical oversight.”
Evander’s mind raced. Nothing about this was a coincidence. Too many puzzle pieces were falling into place.
Warwicke stepped closer. “Let’s consider this, shall we? Olivia was taken to The Dragon’s Head. It is well known as a reformers’ stronghold. Too convenient, don’t you think?”
Evander’s chest tightened. “You’re saying someone wanted it to appear the reformers were behind it.”
“Exactly. But what if they weren’t?” Warwicke’s eyes turned determined. “What if it was someone who stood to gain the most from you selling your plantation?”
There was only one name left in the room.
“You,” Warwicke said, eyes locked on Harwood.
Harwood gave a derisive laugh. “This is absurd. Wild speculation. You have no proof of what you are saying.”
“Interesting that you mention proof,” Warwicke replied. “Because once I got hold of Walter Textiles’s financial records, I found the payments—direct, traceable—made to the men who threatened Westmere and his father.”
Harwood blanched. “That’s impossible.”
“Your man of business is very bad at keeping things secure,” Warwicke added. “He really should lock his desk drawers.”
“You’re lying,” Harwood growled.
“I am many things,” Warwicke said, “but being a liar is not one of them.”
Evander’s father, who had remained deathly silent, now rose to his feet. “Are you telling me thatthis manwas behind my son’s death?”
“I had nothing to do with Bryon’s death!” Harwood exclaimed, visibly rattled now. “Don’t believe him.”
“I wish it weren’t true,” Warwicke replied. “But the money trail is undeniable.”
Evander stepped forward, cold fury building in his chest. “You killed my brother?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “Why?”
Harwood raised both hands in a calming gesture. “Evander, you know me. Do you really think I’m capable of murder?”
Warwicke’s expression darkened. “It turns out Westmere’s indigo plantation property comes with the water rights. Which means Harwood has to pay him a fortune every year to maintain his factory.”
Harwood let out a disgusted sound. “I don’t know what my brother was thinking, selling it to Westmere, but that’s irrelevant now.”
