had different names. "Your father complained whenever I repeated a word twice in a letter," Miriam said. "Would he really copy a mistake three times in his own accounts?" Clara could not answer, but she copied each detail into a fresh notebook. For the first time since the funeral, she felt the faint movement of a plan.
The same afternoon she encountered Julian Wren outside the Exchange. He had returned from New York to help settle his late uncle's estate, though Clara suspected Harrow had summoned him for a less innocent purpose. Years before, Julian had been a penniless young law clerk whom Jonathan invited to supper every Sunday. He and Clara had competed over chess, argued about books, and once walked home through a summer thunderstorm without either remembering to seek shelter. At twenty-one he had left for a position that promised advancement, and his letters gradually became shorter until they stopped entirely.
Julian stepped into her path with a look she could not decipher. "I asked your solicitor whether you were well," he began. "He told me you refused visitors." Clara said, "Visitors are a luxury for people who do not have creditors standing on their doorstep." The remark pained him, and she almost regretted it. Then she remembered his testimony at the trustees' meeting: that he had inspected accounts supplied by Harrow and could not account for the missing money. He had said nothing when the room treated that uncertainty as proof her father was guilty.
"I did not accuse Jonathan of theft," Julian said when she challenged him. "I told them the figures presented were incomplete." Clara felt anger rise through the fatigue. "You knew him," she answered. "You knew what he would have done for those families. If the figures were incomplete, why did you let Harrow call them conclusive?" Julian looked toward the street, where a carriage rolled through dirty snow. "Because I thought I could obtain the remainder quietly," he admitted. "I was wrong about how much damage silence could do."
He asked for an opportunity to examine her notes, but Clara refused. Julian worked occasionally for Harrow's trading partners, and she did not yet know how far their obligations extended. There had been a time when she would have trusted him with every fear she possessed; the loss of that easy trust made her harsher than she intended. As she turned away, Julian said, "Your father once told me a chess player should never confuse the person across the board with the