Then again, nobody said it had to be onlyoneaccount...
That thought was less than comforting. If these skimming episodes—which was the only way he could describe them—were spread over several accounts, their chance of rooting out the people who were doing it? Well, pretty damn low.
But then again, he’d often heard the saying “Two peoplecanhold a secret, but only if one of them is dead.”
Lucas mulled over that for a bit, then heard the slow whine that told him the mirror engine was about ready to spit out information.
He stood, stretched a little, and walked over, watching as various information appeared, transferred itself to paper, and delicately slid over shiny brass rollers into a chute that could be opened via a key and an engraved brass knob.
He loved this machine. It was—to him—one of the times when form and function had gotten married and produced a true work of art. That also delivered when asked.
The hum quietened, the chute opened, and Lucas removed the papers, still a little warm from their encounter with mechanical magic.
Taking them to his desk, he spread them out in front of him to finish cooling and began to evaluate what the numbers would tell him. Would they simply smile at him, wave, and settle back into their usual pattern? If so, that would be a huge relief. It wouldn’t solve the problem, of course, but it also wouldn’t make it any worse.
There was always the chance that he’d see another “phantom” activity. That would be less pleasant, since it would mean that whoever was doing this, wasstilldoing it.
A thought crossed his mind. If they were still doing it, then in all likelihood they didnotknow that they’d been discovered. And that might give him—and his partners in this almost-unreal operation—a little more time to continue their investigations. Would that matter significantly? He had no idea, since it might well have gone on over generations.
He frowned at that thought. It couldn’t have gone on that long.Someonewould have noticed the game, or the numbers, or the discrepancies. Lucas wasn’t self-centred enough to assume his was the only intelligent mind to stumble over the issue. Yes,he had his fair share of financial abilities, and yes, they were probably more than most. But still...
People like Alastair were few and far between, but there had to have been some. Verity—a brilliant mind, capable of wandering through the financial forest, whistling and picking flowers here and there. Unique to this time, as far as he knew. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been other, earlier versions of someone with her gifts.
Pushing these reflections aside, he took a breath and turned to the papers. Less than an hour later, he had his answer.
And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Chapter Eighteen
Despite all the recent distractions—the banking problems, the upcoming art show, and a certain gentleman—Verity’s schedule remained in place. There were obligations she had to fulfill, letters that needed answering, and one or two guests who had asked for some of her time. The letters she received on a daily basis took up at least an hour of her mornings, so she made a deliberate effort to get back into her routine.
It was the day of the Art Show, so she’d lose an afternoon. Once it got underway, Heaven only knew how long she’d have to stay.
And Lucas...? He occupied her thoughts quite a bit, especially since they’d not met yesterday at all. Had she been concerned? Of course not.
Well—she amended that thought—maybe just a little. But the bank situation was deepening, growing into something that filled her with concern. If she had visited him yesterday, which she almost did, it went without saying that the rest of her day would have been spent in...other pursuits.
The mere thought of that made the colour rise in her cheeks, and she indulged in a few minutes of delightful memories. Had he missed her, she wondered? Or was he too digging into his PBIC system, endeavouring to find more clues?
Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.
It would be Tabby, since they’d made arrangements to meet after Verity had received the roof estimate. All that had to be discussed and evaluated with regard to the current budget.
And there she was, right on time. Verity stood as she heard Sprocket opening the door and greeting her guest.
“Mrs Monroe, m’Lady.”
“Thank you, Sprocket. Tea in an hour, if you would.” She held out her hand in welcome. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Tabby looked at the paperwork on her desk and grinned. “I can see why.”
They sat, each accustomed to the other’s way of handling matters, Verity very much a bottom-line economist, while Tabby was excellent with the details.
“I think this is a very fair offer for the roof work,” Tabby looked through the paperwork provided by the well-regarded firm of James, James, James, & Son. “I must confess I wonder if the son is named James too.”
Verity chuckled. “I do as well, but I’ve never mustered up the nerve to ask, since if the answer is ‘yes’ I would probably collapse with laughter, and that would be quite rude.”
They shared a companionable laugh, then returned to the business at hand, Verity making notes, Tabby reviewing the overall situation.
