My Husband Forced Me Out When His Father Struck Me at His 1864 Banquet — He Didn't Know I Secretly Owned Their Iron Dynasty
Julian’s surrendered ledger proved to be a goldmine of incriminating evidence. Tobias Wright, poring over its hastily scrawled entries back in his cluttered office, looked increasingly pale with each passing hour. The double-billing for shell casings, the bribes to Thaddeus Finch, the hidden accounts for inflated material costs—it was all there, laid bare.
Then, he paused, his finger tracing a particular line item near the back of the book, dated for late October of 1864. A series of invoices for “cold-weather materiel,” blankets and heavy coats, destined for the Virginia front lines.
“Eleanor,” Tobias said, his voice hushed, “you need to see this.”
I leaned closer, my heart pounding. The entry detailed a significant shipment of winter coats and blankets, specifically marked for the 14th Ohio Infantry Regiment. Arthur’s regiment.
“The delivery date,” Tobias explained, “it was scheduled for November 1st. Prime time, just before the first heavy frost hit that sector.”
He flipped a few pages, then pulled out a corresponding War Department record. “But the actual dispatch from Endicott Ironworks? It was recorded as November 10th. A nine-day delay.”
Nine days. My mind reeled. Nine days of exposure to the brutal, unseasonable cold that had swept through the Virginia trenches in early November. Arthur, with his frail health, always susceptible to chills.
“Why?” I choked out, the word a painful whisper. “Why would he delay such critical supplies?”
Tobias pointed to another entry in Silas’s personal ledger, a smaller, almost imperceptible notation beside the delayed shipment. “See here? ‘Increased transportation surcharge, November 8th.’ And then a note from a contractor, indicating a premium paid for ‘expedited delivery’ after the 10th.”
The truth, when it dawned on me, was a horrific blow. Silas hadn’t just been negligent. He had deliberately delayed the shipments. He held back Arthur’s regiment’s winter coats and blankets for nearly a week and a half, waiting for the price of “urgent” transportation to inflate. He had manufactured a crisis, then profited from it.
His greed wasn’t just abstract numbers on a page. It was a tangible, cruel force, directly impacting the lives of thousands of soldiers, including my own brother, shivering in the Petersburg trenches. Silas had gambled with Arthur’s life, and the lives of his comrades, for a few extra dollars of profit.
A cold, burning rage settled in my chest, harder and sharper than any grief. This was no longer just about justice for my family, or reclaiming an inheritance. This was about vengeance, pure and simple, for the suffering he had inflicted, for the calculated cruelty that had endangered Arthur.
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