Genevieve nodded. "You requested this meeting?"
"Yes." He opened the leather case carefully. "I recently acquired documents from the estate of Edward Sinclair."
Silence settled across the room; Victoria visibly stiffened.
The solicitor continued: "Several personal letters were discovered among his effects." He removed a bundle of papers tied with faded ribbon. "Most are unimportant." His gaze moved toward Genevieve. "A few are not."
Lord Carter closed his eyes briefly. Nathaniel noticed; so did Genevieve.
The solicitor selected one letter and unfolded it. "This correspondence was written approximately six months before the bridge collapse." The room remained perfectly still. Then he began reading.
Every sentence drove the truth deeper: Edward Sinclair openly discussed delaying repairs; he complained about costs; he argued that estate improvements would produce greater social benefits; more importantly, the letter referenced multiple discussions with Lord Carter regarding those decisions.
When the reading ended, silence followed: heavy, absolute.
Genevieve did not look at her father immediately. She looked at Victoria. "Did you know?"
Victoria's face paled. "No." The answer came instantly. "I swear I did not."
For the first time since Nathaniel met her, Victoria appeared completely stripped of her usual confidence.
"I knew my father handled estate finances," her voice shook. "I never knew this."
Genevieve studied her carefully, searching for deception, finding none. Eventually, she nodded once. Victoria's shoulders sagged with visible relief.
Then, Genevieve turned toward Lord Carter. The room seemed to hold its breath. "Is it true?"
Lord Carter stared into the fireplace for several seconds before answering. "Yes."
The single word changed everything: no excuses, no denial, just truth.
Genevieve closed her eyes. Nathaniel moved instinctively closer—not touching her, simply present.
Lord Carter looked older than ever. "At first, we believed repairs could wait." His voice sounded tired. "Then costs increased." He swallowed hard. "Then other projects became priorities."
"People died." Genevieve's words emerged quietly, yet they struck harder than any accusation.
Lord Carter nodded. "Yes."
No one spoke; the weight of that admission filled the room. Finally, Lord Carter looked directly at his daughter. "I was wrong."
Genevieve's expression did not change. "You were."