"Then continue."
Something shifted around the table. Not acceptance—not yet. But the men stopped looking through her.
Eleanor produced a delivery register. "There is more. The missing grain was billed as delivered through the north warehouse."
Samuel frowned. "That warehouse has been closed since August. Roof damage."
Nathaniel's gaze moved to Mercer. "Were you aware of that?"
"Of course. The invoices must contain a clerical error."
"For three months?" Eleanor asked.
Mercer's chair scraped backward. "I will not be interrogated by this woman."
Nathaniel's voice dropped. "You are not being interrogated by Miss Reed."
Mercer looked relieved for precisely one second.
"You are being interrogated by me."
The room went still. Nathaniel turned toward Eleanor. "What do you need to determine whether this is incompetence or deliberate loss?"
She studied him as though the question itself surprised her. "Access to the original contracts, warehouse receipts, and correspondence with Henshaw."
"You have it."
Mercer stood. "Your Grace—"
"Sit down."
He did.
Eleanor lowered her gaze to the ledger, but Nathaniel caught the small breath she released. It should have meant nothing. Instead, he found himself watching her hand move across the page, steady again.
Then she stopped. Her brow tightened. "Samuel."
The steward came closer. Eleanor pointed to a payment entered six weeks earlier. "Who authorized this?"
Samuel bent over the page. The color slowly left his face.
Nathaniel rose. "Price?"
The old steward looked at him with something Nathaniel had never seen there before: fear.
"That signature," Samuel whispered, "is supposed to be mine."
Eleanor turned the ledger toward Nathaniel. Samuel's next words dropped into the silent room: "But I never signed it."
No one moved. The only sound was the slow ticking of the mantle clock and Samuel's uneven breath.
Nathaniel took the ledger. "Are you certain?"
Samuel looked almost offended. "I have signed your family's accounts for thirty-two years, Your Grace. I know my own hand."
Mercer leaned forward. "Then someone forged it. That hardly proves anything concerning me."
"No one said it did," Eleanor replied.
Mercer's eyes narrowed. Nathaniel saw her notice. She noticed everything.
"Samuel," Nathaniel said, "lock the original books in my study. No document leaves Blackmir without my permission." He turned to Mercer. "Until I understand this, you will authorize no payments."
"Your Grace, that could paralyze the estate."
"Then pray we discover the truth quickly."
The meeting ended without resolution. By noon, however, a different crisis arrived. Twenty tenant farmers gathered outside Blackmir House after word spread that spring seed allotments would be reduced to preserve cash.
Nathaniel descended the front steps into a cold wind and angry voices. Mercer followed close behind.