Elias found Silas Boone hunched over his ledger in a dim corner of the lumber yard office. The air smelled of sawdust and old paper, a stark contrast to the stench of the fraudulent timber Elias knew was being shipped. Cromwell’s bookkeeper looked even more timid than usual, his shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the world.
“Silas,” Elias began, his voice low, trying not to startle him.
Silas jumped, nearly dropping his quill. His spectacles slid down his nose. He pushed them up with a trembling finger, his eyes darting to the door.
“Mr. Finch,” he mumbled. “Is everything alright?”
“No, Silas, it isn’t,” Elias said, stepping closer. “I’ve been going over some of the inventory manifests, comparing them to what’s leaving the yard.”
Silas’s face drained of color. He looked like a cornered rabbit.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Silas whispered, his voice barely audible. He squeezed his hands together under the desk.
Elias leaned against the rough wooden frame of the door, blocking any quick escape. “I mean the federal contracts, Silas. The bridge timbers. The barracks lumber. The figures don’t add up to the quality of material going out.”
Silas visibly flinched. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. “All records are in order, Mr. Finch. I assure you.”
“Are they?” Elias asked, his tone hardening. “Because I’ve seen the timber. The rot. The beetle trails. That’s not what the inspection reports claim it is. That’s not what the ledgers show you’re paying for, either.”
Silas started shaking, a subtle tremor that ran through his entire frame. He glanced at the ceiling, then at the floor, anywhere but Elias’s eyes.
“Cromwell keeps a tight ship, Mr. Finch,” Silas stammered. “He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t allow any irregularities.”
Elias knew better. The Cincinnati Gazette’s articles had painted him as a deserter, a liar. He had nothing left to lose by pushing.
“He already allowed enough irregularities to destroy my reputation, Silas,” Elias countered. “He wouldn’t hesitate to do worse if it meant covering his tracks. These timbers are going into vital structures. People’s lives depend on them holding.”
Silas let out a small, choked sound. He wrung his hands together, his knuckles white. The fear in his eyes was palpable. It was a fear Elias recognized from the war, the kind that made men freeze or run.
“I… I can’t,” Silas pleaded, his voice cracking. “He’ll ruin me. He’ll take everything.”
“He’ll ruin more than just you when those bridges collapse,” Elias pressed, stepping away from the door, trying a different tack. He lowered his voice, making it sound more like an offer than an accusation. “You’re a meticulous man, Silas. I’ve seen your work. You wouldn’t let details like this slip.”
Silas looked up, a flicker of something beyond terror in his eyes. A flicker of wounded pride, perhaps.
“I had to,” Silas confessed, his voice a ragged whisper. “He… he watched me. Every entry.”
“But not every entry,” Elias prompted, recalling a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation Silas had once shown when Cromwell wasn’t looking.
Silas swallowed hard. His gaze darted to a loose floorboard beneath his desk. His breathing became shallow, rapid. He was teetering on the edge.
“He keeps the good lumber separate,” Silas whispered, as if the walls had ears. “Sold privately, for much higher prices. The government contracts get… the other kind.”
“And the records reflect that?” Elias asked, sensing the opening. “That good timber is being sold off while substandard material is used for federal work?”
Silas shook his head frantically. “No! Not these ledgers. These are… these are what he wants people to see.”
He hesitated, then took a shuddering breath. He reached down, fumbling under his desk. His fingers traced the edge of the loose floorboard.
“He can’t know,” Silas said, his voice barely audible. “If he knows, I’m a dead man.”
Elias stayed silent, letting the tension build. He watched Silas’s hand, his heart pounding.
With a soft groan of old wood, Silas pried up the floorboard. Beneath it, nestled in a dusty hollow, lay another leather-bound book. This one looked older, its cover worn smooth from handling.
“I kept them,” Silas confessed, his voice a tremor. “Not… not to be brave. To save myself. As insurance. In case he ever decided to cut me loose, to blame me.”
He pushed the book across the floor towards Elias with the tip of his boot. It slid silently, stopping at Elias’s feet.
“This is the truth,” Silas said, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “The real numbers. The real transactions. Every shipment of rotten wood, every price gouged, every federal penny stolen.”
Elias knelt, picking up the ledger. The leather was cool under his fingers. He opened it, flipping through pages filled with Silas’s familiar, precise script. The entries were dated, detailed, and chillingly clear. They meticulously documented the fraudulent substitution of lumber, the double bookkeeping, the true profits Cromwell was making at the expense of public safety.
This wasn’t just proof; it was an undeniable, damning record. It was Twist 3.
“Silas,” Elias breathed, his voice filled with a grim awe. “This is everything.”
Silas, however, recoiled, pulling the floorboard back over the hidden compartment. He pressed his back against the wall, his eyes pleading.
“You can’t take it,” Silas whispered, desperately. “Not from me. Not now. I told you, if he finds out…”
He clasped his hands together, his entire body trembling. Elias could see the raw terror in the man’s face. Silas had revealed the truth, but his fear of Cromwell was still a heavy, paralyzing cloak.
“No one needs to know where it came from, Silas,” Elias said, trying to reassure him. “Just that it exists. That the truth is out there.”
Silas shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “He’ll know. He’ll connect the dots. I’m already a dead man either way, aren’t I?”
Elias stared at the ledger in his hands. This was a slim chance, a precarious lifeline. He had physical proof, undeniable. But getting Silas to fully cooperate, to truly act against Cromwell, would be another monumental battle. The weight of public disgrace still hung over Elias, and Silas’s testimony, even just the ledgers, was his only path to justice. He gripped the book tighter, its pages filled with the ghost of Cromwell’s crimes, a ghost Elias now had to figure out how to bring into the light. The fight was far from over.
+ There are no comments
Add yours