Or Papa was lying on these reports.
Both men had done so in the past. Yet as far as Nora knew, the only lie Mr. Hatcher had uttered was in service to achieving the very goal that was written in black and white before her eyes. Why would a man lie if he were already in business with Eden & Co.? There was no sense in that. Any more than there was sense to be found in the lies that Papa had leveled against Mr. Lyndon and her ring.
Or stacks of blank letterhead.
Or keeping his heir from aspects of the business.
Speculation without risk. Was there such a thing? It defied logic, yet so many praised Eden & Co.’s ability to deliver large returns, even when the economy thrashed about. It wasn’t possible—unless the reports he gave his clients were riddled with lies and inflated numbers. And according to these papers, that was precisely what Papa was doing.
The pressure inside Nora’s chest forced her to her feet, though she had to grasp the desk to keep her balance. Heat rushed violently into her face even as her limbs turned strangely cold, and for one awful moment she thought she might be ill all over Papa’s papers. Every certainty she reached for twisted apart the instant she touched it, leaving only a sickening dread she could neither swallow nor escape.
Papa was a fraud. The thought no longer hovered at the edges of possibility, ugly but distant. It sat fully formed before her at last, monstrous and undeniable, and the sheer enormity of it sent another wave of nausea rolling through her stomach. Nora stared blindly at the papers scattered across the desk whilst her mind recoiled from the conclusion even as every terrible piece fell neatly into place—
A sudden thud somewhere beyond the study door jolted her so violently that her heart stopped altogether before surging painfully back into motion. Every muscle strained at the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and for one dreadful instant she could not think at all.
A single report wouldn’t be missed amongst this stack, so Nora snatched one up with clumsy fingers, folding the paper and stuffing it into her reticule before settling the rest carefully into the drawer. Shifting the chair back into place, she gathered her skirts and fled the room as every approaching sound made her stomach clench anew. And only once inside the safety ofher bedchamber, with the lock clicked firmly into place, did she finally stop moving.
Papa was a fraud. The words pulsed through her, and Nora sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, pressing trembling fingers hard against her mouth as though trying to physically hold herself together as the truth attempted to pull her apart at the seams.
***
The noise struck Jonathan as he emerged from Mr. Eden’s offices. Around him, Lombard Street carried on in its usual rush of wheels, boots, voices, and opening doors. That morning, the sound had pressed down on him. Now it urged him on. The whole district was still in motion, still indifferent, still capable of swallowing a man’s prospects whole, but Jonathan could breathe again.
There was a path forward now. A plan. Not enough to free him from the difficulty, but enough to keep him from feeling as though he were only stumbling through it.
Mr. Eden understood the markets better than anyone Jonathan had ever encountered, and more importantly, he believed the developments themselves remained fundamentally sound; that confidence alone steadied something inside Jonathan that weeks of balancing ledgers and sleepless nights had worn nearly threadbare.
Claiming the money came from dividends made Jonathan’s stomach sour, but there was a balance between transparency and revealing too much. Every business and organization made decisions that were inconceivable to those not in the thick ofthings, and whilst individuals could be reasoned with, humanity as a whole was far too apt to leap to conclusions and be led by popular opinion.
And truly, was there any harm in paying dividends from his own pocket? The housing would fill eventually. The cities were growing too quickly for it not to. What threatened the company now was not the quality of the projects, but fretful investors pulling out at precisely the wrong moment, and if a temporary measure preserved confidence, what harm was there in it?
The profits would come eventually.
Besides, if Uncle Oliver’s investment came through, this all would be a moot point.
Jonathan’s stride quickened as he turned onto the broader thoroughfare, and Lombard Street’s polished grandeur gave way to Holborn’s busier commercial thoroughfares crowded with warehouses, printers, solicitors, and the practical machinery that kept London’s economy moving.
Ordinarily, the sight of Hatcher & Byrnes would’ve tightened the old knot of worry between his shoulders, but today, Jonathan took the steps lightly. The familiar bustle of the office embraced him, and several clerks glanced up with polite greetings as Jonathan crossed the outer rooms to his private office—but he halted on the threshold when he found Father seated before his desk.
Chapter 31
“Good afternoon, Father,” said Jonathan, pleased that his voice did not fail him. Coming around the desk, he took his seat. “I hope you weren’t waiting long. I had some urgent business to see to.”
“I gathered as much,” replied Father, studying Jonathan with the same calm attentiveness that had unsettled many a soul. Though the gentleman sat comfortably enough in the chair opposite, his hat resting upon his knee, there remained a directness about him that made Jonathan instinctively straighten.
Father’s eyes watched closely as he said, “You are a hard man to find nowadays.”
“I have been very busy of late.” Jonathan reached automatically for the correspondence awaiting him atop the desk, giving his hands something to do.
“So I hear.” Father’s gaze did not leave him. “Which is precisely why I finally decided if my son would not come speak to me, then I ought to come to him instead.”
“If I had something to speak to you about, then I would do so,” replied Jonathan, ignoring the way his stomach clenched.
But Father gave that a considering hum and leaned back slightly, a crease forming between his brows. “I am concernedabout your dealings with Mr. Virgil Eden. I have heard some troubling rumors about him and his company.”
“You know how insidious rumors are,” said Jonathan whilst sifting through the letters. “Success often spurs jealousy and speculation.”
“True, but I heard tell of some…” Father frowned, “…questionable practices. The promises he makes are so grandiose they must be tantamount to lies, and he is downright brutal to anyone who crosses him—”
