The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Thomas Halsworth's office, casting long rectangles of light across the heavy oak desk and the rows of ledgers stacked neatly along the shelves.
John sat in his father's chair once again, a ledger open in front of him. His fingers slowly turned another page, though his attention was not entirely on the numbers before him.
Across the desk sat William, leaning back slightly in his chair with the relaxed impatience of someone who had little interest in financial records.
Charlotte had taken charge of the funeral arrangements that morning. With Edward assisting her, the two had left the house earlier to meet with the church and make the necessary preparations.
Which left the brothers alone in the office.
Or rather, left John attempting to work while William filled the silence.
"And then Professor Langley insisted the entire class redo the calculations," William was saying animatedly, waving his hands as he spoke. "Even though the error was only in one student's work."
John nodded absently while scanning another page.
"That must have been frustrating."
"It was," William said indignantly. "And the worst part is that everyone knew exactly who made the mistake."
John allowed himself a faint smile.
University gossip appeared to be just as lively in the nineteenth century as it was in any other era.
William leaned forward slightly.
"Though I must say," he continued, "the engineering lectures are actually rather interesting."
"Oh?" John asked, glancing up briefly.
"Yes. We've recently started studying the mechanics of steam engines. It's fascinating how much power they can generate when properly designed."
John listened with mild interest.
Steam engines again.
It seemed the topic followed him everywhere these days.
As William continued recounting various stories from his studies, John kept searching through the remaining documents on the desk.
So far, he had discovered nothing new.
The ledgers still painted the same picture as before.
The British Equatorial Trading Company was thriving.
Trade revenues were rising steadily.
Shipping routes were expanding.
By every visible measure, the company appeared to be flourishing.
Which only made his father's sudden death feel even more suspicious.
William suddenly paused mid-sentence.
John glanced up.
"What is it?"
William hesitated slightly before speaking.
"Is it true?"
John raised an eyebrow.
"Is what true?"
William shifted in his chair.
"The maids were talking earlier," he said cautiously. "They said that when you returned home the other night, you were in very bad shape."
John felt a faint twinge of amusement.
Ah.
Household gossip.
William continued.
"They said you had some terrible wound and a fever," he added. "And then somehow you were perfectly fine the next day."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Is that actually true?"
John stared at him for a moment.
Then he laughed.
"So now you're gossiping with the maids?"
William frowned defensively.
"I wasn't gossiping. I simply overheard them talking."
"Of course you did."
John closed the ledger and leaned back slightly.
"It wasn't anything so dramatic," he said casually. "Just a minor cut that became a bit irritated."
William looked skeptical.
"A minor cut?"
"That's all."
William studied him carefully.
"Well… the maids certainly made it sound worse."
John waved the matter away.
"You know how rumors grow inside large households."
William shrugged but seemed willing to drop the subject.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," John called.
The door opened and Hawkins stepped inside.
"Pardon the interruption, Master John."
"Yes, Hawkins?"
"There is a message for you."
John sat up slightly.
"From whom?"
"Dr. Foyle."
John's expression sharpened.
"What does he want?"
Hawkins stepped forward slightly.
"He sent word that he wishes to meet you at a restaurant in the city. He described the matter as… urgent."
John's interest immediately piqued.
Urgent?
That could only mean one thing.
Julian had found something.
John rose from the chair.
"Very well."
He turned toward the butler.
"Have a carriage prepared."
"Of course, sir."
As Hawkins turned to leave, John glanced toward William.
"Looks like I have some business to attend to."
William shrugged.
"I suppose I'll continue reviewing these books then."
John laughed.
"Good luck with that."
.....
A short time later, John's carriage rolled to a stop in front of a fashionable restaurant along one of London's busier streets.
He stepped down onto the pavement and glanced up at the establishment's sign.
The name was written in elegant lettering.
French.
John smirked slightly.
Even in the nineteenth century, it seemed the French held a firm grip on cultural prestige.
Restaurants.
Fashion.
Cuisine.
Even centuries later, the influence would remain.
"The French really do have a chokehold on culture," he muttered to himself as he stepped inside.
A waiter greeted him politely and directed him upstairs toward the quieter dining area.
The second floor was far less crowded than the ground level, filled mostly with well-dressed patrons enjoying private conversations.
John scanned the room.
It didn't take long to find Julian.
The doctor sat alone at a small corner table, his posture slightly tense as he watched the staircase.
When he spotted John approaching, he immediately stood.
"John."
"Julian."
The two men shook hands before taking their seats.
After exchanging brief pleasantries, John leaned back in his chair and studied his friend.
"You sounded rather urgent in your message," he said.
Julian glanced around briefly to ensure no one was paying them particular attention.
Then he reached into his coat.
"I think you should see this."
He placed several folded documents on the table.
John's curiosity deepened.
"What are these?"
"The coroner's reports."
John's expression hardened immediately.
"How did you get those?"
Julian allowed himself a small, mischievous smile.
"I have my ways."
John chuckled softly.
"I see you're more resourceful than I gave you credit for."
Julian gestured toward the documents.
"Read them."
John unfolded the first report and quickly scanned its contents.
His expression remained neutral.
"Cause of death: cardiac arrest."
He looked up.
"That's the official story."
"Yes," Julian said quietly. "But keep reading."
John unfolded the second document.
His eyes moved quickly across the page.
Then they slowed.
His expression gradually grew more serious.
When he finished reading, he leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said quietly, "it seems we were right."
Julian nodded grimly.
"Your father's death was not natural."
John tapped the documents lightly with his finger.
"Poison."
Julian nodded again.
"A substance capable of inducing symptoms similar to a heart attack."
John remained silent for a moment as he considered the implications.
Then he looked up again.
"How exactly did you get these files?"
Julian chuckled.
"As I said… I'm more resourceful than you think."
John laughed.
"Fair enough."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Well, since we're sharing discoveries…"
Julian raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
John lowered his voice.
"I found something in my father's desk."
He briefly explained the hidden compartment.
The mysterious Blackwood Orient Trading Company.
And the letter referencing three hundred thousand pounds in government capitalization.
Julian listened carefully.
When John finished, the doctor sat back slowly.
"That's… quite a discovery."
John nodded.
"Indeed."
Julian folded his hands on the table.
"So now we only need to find out who is behind all of this."
John allowed a faint smile to appear.
"I believe I already know."
Julian leaned forward immediately.
"Who?"
John shook his head.
"Not yet."
Julian frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
John glanced toward the window, where the fading afternoon light painted the street outside in soft gold.
"The funeral is tomorrow," he said calmly.
Julian looked confused.
"And?"
John turned back toward him.
"If I'm right… the man responsible will be there."
Julian's eyes widened slightly.
"You think so?"
John nodded.
"Yes."
He folded the documents carefully and slid them back toward Julian.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "I'll confirm my suspicions."