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“Would you care to speculate?” Marco asked, looking at the lettering carefully. The author had obviously taken pains to disguise their handwriting. He wondered if that meant he would recognize their actual hand. The thought was disturbing.
“You have many competitors, sir. Your business flourishes, but…” Thomas hesitated, looking toward the windows as if he wondered if they may be overheard. “There is one man in particular who may resent your success.”
“Name him,” Marco demanded.
“The Duke of Fitzroy,” Thomas said. Marco groaned inwardly. The Duke of Fitzroy was not known to him, but the mere fact that he was a duke would make confronting him more difficult should he prove to be behind the threats.
“Tell me of him,” Marco said quietly, sitting opposite Thomas, who sat behind his desk.
“His seat is near here. He owns many of the farms that surround us. He has heavily invested in a factory a few miles away. I believe he has been upset about the success of your business. More specifically, that you offer your workers higher wages,” Thomas said. “You are besting him in profits and popularity as it is well known that you treat your employees fairly.”
“Yet he is a duke, and I am merely a businessman,” Marco muttered. “If he chooses to hurt me, I cannot possibly bring action against him, especially if he does not sign his threats.”
“You are more than a simple businessman, sir. Your cousin is the Marquess of Bath,” Thomas said. “And your uncle is the Duke of Grasmere.”
“That is true, but it means nothing. I cannot ask them to involve themselves,” Marco sighed.
“Then I shall keep an eye on it, sir,” Thomas said. “No one will stop your business from flourishing. I shall ensure it.”
Marco stood and handed the piece of paper back to Thomas.
“I trust you with this, Thomas. Let me know if anything changes or the Duke makes his identity known.”
“He’s finally slipped up, sir,” Thomas wheezed, pulling Marco out of his memory. His breathing was becoming more shallow, and pain was etched on his face. Macro saw with growing fear that more blood oozed from his mouth as he coughed. “I saw it… just before the blast… the seal."
Marco turned the paper over. There was indeed a broken seal on the letter when there had never been one on the threats before. The Duke of Fitzroy's coat of arms was clearly visible in the red wax.
“The bastard,” Marco whispered, brushing his fingers against the seal. A violent fury rose within him at the carnage the Duke had wrought over his petty concerns.
“We now… have proof, sir,” Thomas whispered hoarsely. His bloody hands groped blindly for Marco’s. He took his hands within his as gently as he could, wincing at the raw, burned skin on the backs of them. “You have him now.”
“I will make him pay for this, Thomas. Pay for the pain he has caused you,” Marco said fiercely.
Thomas grippedMarco's hand for a brief moment before his eyes closed and his hands relaxed. He feared that if the man fell asleep, he would never againwake.
“Don't close your eyes, Thomas,” Marco begged, squeezing his hand again. "You need to stay with me, my friend. I need you." He felt tears prick his eyes as Thomas' remained closed.
The blaze nearby intensified, becoming a roar that seemed to eat up all the air around it. But Marco did not care as he watched Thomas struggle to breathe. "Where is the damned doctor?" he yelled.
One of Marco’s workers ran over to him. “Mr. Alegria, we must go!” He gestured to the blaze. The fire burned uncontrollably and licked at the bricks, reaching up to the roof. “The building is going to collapse. We need to move, sir!"
Marco realized he was right. The building couldn't last much longer; if they stayed, they'd be in the path of the burning debris when it fell. “Help me carry him!” Marco yelled back.
As the other man took Thomas's legs, Marcoclutched Thomas's limp body under his arms. They carried himinto a field where the other workers had gathered, watchingthe blaze; terrified. As more workers and villagers arrived to assist, Marco instructed the other man to ensure that no one else was near the building. But there was nothing they could do but watch the fire rage. Marco knelt beside his fallen friend, holding his hand as the man took his final labored breaths.
"You will be avenged, Thomas. I swear it," Marco whispered as he folded Thomas's arms across his now-still chest.
“Father!” William, a boy barely seventeen and Thomas’ eldest son, ran through the crowd and dropped to the ground next to him. "Father!"
“I am so sorry, William. He is gone,” Marco said, unable to stop his voice from breaking.
The words caused the boy to cry out in anguish, and Marco held him while he screamed in pain. The boy's slim frame was riddled with sobs that Marco could feel in his bones.
“How did this happen, sir?” William asked when he had calmed a bit, his expression fierce.
"Sabotage," Marco growled before he could stop himself.
"What do you mean?" William demanded any deference to Marco's position he had previously shown gone. And Marco did not begrudge the boy his anger. "This was not an accident?"
