Eyeing it, Jackson frowned. Of all the things he needed in the world, another collection of paperwork was not it. “What exactly is it that you have done, Mr. Harvey?”
“Why, I have worked, sir.” He tossed back his shoulders, the movement jiggling his jowls. “My labours are now at an end.”
By all the saints! Did the man seriously think he could simply back out of a tough case by depositing it here for Jackson to finish? His stomach let out a growl as furious as the one he fought to suppress in his throat. “Mr. Harvey, I find I can no longer cut you any slack based solely on the merit that you are the commissioner’s nephew. If you refuse to work, then I will have to let you go.”
Harvey’s big eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “I offer no refusal, sir. May I?” He tipped his head towards the chair. “My sciatica, you know.”
He dragged the chair close to his folder at the desk before Jackson could naysay him, then proceeded to flip open the cover. “As you can see, sir…” He ran a podgy finger down one column and another, carefully turned the page, then did so again. And again. And—
Leaning forward, Jackson stilled the man’s hand. “I see clearly that the numbers are different, Mr. Harvey. What is your point?”
The man eased back in his chair, a supremely pleased tilt to his head. “That is the point, sir.”
Count to ten, man. Just count to ten. Several times over if need be.
And he did need to. In fact, the wall clock ticked a full minute and a half before he could force calm words past his lips. “For the sake of argument, Mr. Harvey, pretend I don’t know what you are talking about.”
The man’s head jerked back, astonishment rife on his face. He pulled out an already-damp handkerchief and ran it over his shiny brow before tucking it into his pocket. “Well, I suppose if that were the case, which I highly doubt it is, then I would explain the invoices from Wentworth & Sons, Importers, did not match up with the actual worth of the goods which were supposedly damaged in a fire. Namely, the submitted documents were inflated to a most egregious degree. After comparison to fair market values—and as luck would have it, the discovery of the actual goods which were most decidedlynotdestroyed in an inferno—I propose that Mr. Vincent Wentworth, son to Mr. Robert Wentworth, ought to be issued a warrant for arrest at your earliest convenience.”
A bludgeon to the kidneys couldn’t have stunned him more. He gripped the arms of his chair. “Are you telling me you solved the Imperial Insurance Company’s case?”
Mr. Harvey gently closed the folder and straightened it—along with a few other stacks—before lifting his face. “I did, sir.”
“In two days?”
“Yes, sir.”
No. No way. It wasn’t humanly possible. Jackson shook his head. “How many boxes of records did you plow through?”
Both the man’s bulgy eyes shifted upwards to the corner of the ceiling. “Twenty-four,” he mumbled, then grew louder as he returned his gaze to Jackson. “No, twenty-five, now that I think on it.”
Jackson gaped. “You could not have done so in such a short amount of time.”
“At the risk of sounding overly prideful, sir, I own that paperwork is not only my passion but my gifting.”
“You don’t say?” And yet, there might be some truth to it, for there lay the insurance case, solved in record time. There were also Smitty’s orderly records to reckon with.
Harvey shifted in his chair, wincing from his sciatica. “Oh, but I do say so, sir.”
Another knock rapped on the door, followed by a twist of the knob. In popped Kit’s head. “Pardon my interruption, but I need to speak with you.” Her gaze darted to Mr. Harvey then back to him, fire in her gaze. “Urgently.”
Jackson couldn’t help but smile. Everything was urgent where Kit was concerned. Though considering the whole Coleman and Carky affair, she probably did have good reason this time.
He rose, murmuring to the sweaty fellow in the chair as he rounded the desk, “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Harvey.”
“Think nothing of it,” Harvey answered as he once again produced his handkerchief.
The moment Jackson drew close to his wife, she handed over a folded paper, somewhat wrinkled. He shook it out, brows rising as the words sank in.
“Well?” Kit’s blue-eyed stare met his.
A sigh ripped out of him. He didn’t have time for this. And yet…well, it was completely out of the question to allow this fiery wife of his to meet alone with a known assassin. And she would. He had no doubt whatsoever about that.
He turned to Mr. Harvey. “Your work on the fraud case was exemplary, Harvey, so how about you tackle that?” He swept his hand towards his desk.
Mr. Harvey’s thick lips pursed as he glanced from the paperwork mounds back to Jackson. “What exactly is that, sir?”
Jackson grabbed his hat off a peg, ruffling a few of the WANTEDposters on the board nearby. “I’m not sure, Mr. Harvey. I am hoping you will be able to tell me that when I return.”
