She was so tired of all of this. Would the list of crimes never stop?
How could it when the law refused to investigate her father?
But what if there was a way to force the law to investigate her father? What if she found some kind of evidence that would see her father put in prison for good? Something that not even Marshal Hibbs could ignore?
Or better yet, something that incriminated both her father and Marshal Hibbs, and maybe even her uncle.
Her father kept track of every penny spent, both for the Alaska Commercial Company and for their personal family Finnances. If he kept meticulous records of those things, then he would also keep a record of the bribe money he paid to Marshal Hibbs—and anyone else he had a need to bribe.
What if she found that ledger? What if she not just found it but gave it to Yuri to give to his brother-in-law, the Deputy Marshal? That would be enough to get her father and uncle and the Marshal arrested, put on trial, and sent to prison.
And after that . . .
Her throat thickened. She tried to imagine what Sitka might be like without her father lurking in the shadows, trying tomanipulate every last shipping regulation or law to his benefit. She tried to imagine how life might feel for the Amoses once they didn’t need to worry about her father trying to ruin them.
She tried to imagine what her own life would be like without her father looking over her shoulder.
She could move her money freely, giving however much money she pleased to whatever charities she wished without needing to be sneaky about it. She could leave Sitka and go somewhere she wasn’t constantly reminded of her father’s presence. She could maybe even look for a husband who would love and care about her the way Mikhail Amos loved Bryony, rather than find herself trapped in a marriage to whatever business associate her father thought most advantageous.
Her father and uncle were still talking behind the heavy wooden door, but she didn’t hear a word of it. She was too busy thinking about what life would look like once her father and uncle were in prison.
But first she had to find proof of her father bribing the Marshal. Her father wouldn’t store a ledger like that somewhere it could easily be found. Could she do it? What if her father caught her snooping?
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.
The verse flashed through her head, and she straightened. Was this what the Bible was talking about? Maybe she needed to trust God to keep her safe while she searched her father’s things. After all, she would be searching them for an honorable reason.
And it might take her a long time to find the evidence she needed. But even if it took six months, if the evidence was good enough, she would eventually be free of her father—and the Amos family would be free right along with her.
Surely that was worth the risk of her father discovering what she was doing.
Rosalind could barely concentrateas she entered the old governor’s mansion for the library committee meeting a quarter hour later. All she could think about was where she’d search first for evidence. The most obvious place to start was her father’s study, but that would also be the hardest to search, because her father was always in there, and the servants would think it odd if they found her in the office without her father present.
She stumbled on the grand staircase that led to the second floor where the meeting room was located, then forced herself to take a deep breath and focus on the familiar building rather than the ideas in her head. The library committee meeting was being held in the same building that also housed the governor’s office, the offices for the Revenue Cutter Service, the Alaskan branch of the Department of the Interior, the Marshal’s office, and a number of other Alaskan agencies.
When Sitka had been part of Russian America, the governor alone had lived here, and it had come to be known as the governor’s mansion. The rulers of Russian America had all been men of either noble or high-ranking military backgrounds, and only a mansion would do for such a figure.
The Americans, on the other hand, had turned the grand house into an administrative building that included a jail in the basement.
The strange mixture of elegance and efficiency had always felt odd to Rosalind. The high-arched ceilings still bore intricate Russian moldings, their delicate patterns contrasting with thethin, serviceable drapes the Americans had hung over the windows.
In some places the ornate wooden trim in the hallways gleamed with polish, but in other places, it had been painted a dull utilitarian white, as though the Americans had sought to erase the Russian artistry in favor of something more practical.
When Rosalind entered the room where the meeting was being held, she found the same clash between architecture and furnishings. The room itself was regal, with a grand fireplace, large windows that overlooked the sound, soaring ceilings, and intricate trim that thankfully had not been painted.
The table, chairs, and rug were practical and efficient and devoid of embellishments.
Before heading toward the open chair at the closest end of the table, Rosalind smoothed her glove over her still sore wrist, making sure her sleeve was pulled all the way down and none of her skin was showing.
There were only four people seated at the table, one of which was Mrs. Henrietta Pembroke, whose husband owned Alaska Territorial Bank. Arthur Bixby, who owned the local Sitka newspaper, was also there, along with Angus McCreedy, who owned the largest logging operation and mill in Sitka.
When Rosalind’s eyes landed on the man at the head of the table, her feet stilled.
Yuri Amos.
He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, listening to something Mr. McCreedy was saying about the price of lumber. His thick brown hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes were alive with interest as he listened.
Her stomach twisted. Why was he here?
