That afternoon, Daniel stood behind Marcus in his office, the ledgers laid out like weapons on the desk. Harrow entered at Marcus' summons, his face lined from years of service, hands ink-stained as always. He moved with a measured weariness, as though he had anticipated this confrontation for some time.
"William," Marcus said evenly, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Harrow obeyed, though his eyes darted between Marcus and Daniel, cautious, calculating, betraying nothing of the storm Marcus suspected lay beneath.
Marcus placed a ledger on the desk, opening it to the previously altered entries. "These figures have been falsified. Not once, but several times. At first glance, they are nothing more than clerical errors. But Daniel traced the hand behind it." He let his gaze linger on Harrow. "It was yours."
The room went utterly still. Harrow's lips tightened, then curled into a grimace that almost resembled a smile. "So, the golden boy has sharp eyes."
Daniel's stomach tightened, a flush of guilt and apprehension crawling over him.
Marcus's jaw remained rigid, though his mind wrestled with disbelief. Harrow, who had been so reliable, so constant… had he really harbored this bitterness for him?
"Why, William? You've worked for me for years. I trusted you," Marcus said, his voice steady, though the weight of betrayal pressed heavy in his chest.
Harrow leaned forward, voice low and bitter. "Trusted me, yes. Valued me? Respected me? No. I've been here since before your name carried weight. I kept the books when no one else would touch the work. I stayed when others left for richer patrons. And what did I receive? A clerk's wage. Reliance, perhaps, but never more."
Marcus felt the room tighten around him, a slow anger coiling. So this is what I missed… all these years, his quiet envy simmering beneath the surface.
"If you wanted advancement, a raise, you need only have spoken —" Marcus began.
"I did speak," Harrow snapped, breaking the restraint he had held for so long. "But you never listened. Not truly. And then came Daniel. The golden boy. Sharp, quick, praised for every minor triumph as though he had reinvented the trade. You took him under your wing — your protégé. Your 'right hand.'" His voice cracked under the weight of years. "That should have been me, Marcus. I earned it. I built this place with you, for you."
Daniel shifted uncomfortably, guilt stabbing him. I didn't take anything from him deliberately, he thought, and yet here he is, convinced the world stole what was his. How could I have known?
Marcus, however, felt a cold, sharpening clarity. "So you betrayed me. For bitterness. For envy," he said, each word measured, grounding himself in the truth of loyalty and duty.
Harrow's hands curled into fists on his knees. "Call it what you like. I was tired of watching him rise while I remained invisible. Crowne offered me the recognition you never would. He promised that when Vale stumbled, when his precious reputation cracked, you would lose business, and I would be the man to take your clients." His laugh was hollow, carrying the weight of disappointment and resentment. "I will have the respect I deserve."
Marcus' silence pressed down like a stone. He stared at the man who had once been his most dependable and trustworthy clerk and saw only ruin where loyalty should have been. He felt no triumph in this confrontation, only the grim realisation that he had misjudged Harrow.
Daniel finally spoke, voice firm. "Respect isn't taken by sabotage, Harrow. It's earned. And tonight, you've shown why Marcus could never make you his right hand."
Harrow faltered, the bitterness in his eyes flickering with something that almost looked like shame, though it quickly hardened into defiance again. "You'll see. Crowne will have his victory, and when he does, you'll know it was I who had the power to ruin you."
Marcus rose to his feet, feeling the weight of authority settle over him. "Enough. You've betrayed your duty and this house. You will not return here." His voice dropped to a razor's edge. "And when Crowne fails — as he will — you'll find you've wagered your future on a losing hand."
Harrow said nothing, jaw working as though he wanted to speak but could not. At last, he stood, shaking his head with an expression that was part contempt, part defiance, and walked out of the warehouse.
"He would have ruined you," Daniel said finally, the words a mixture of fear and relief.
Marcus' eyes were shadowed but steady. "He has ruined himself." He laid a hand on Daniel's shoulder, grounding them both. "We move forward. Harrow is done here. Crowne has lost another pawn."
Daniel straightened, determination hardening his features. "Then we'll use what we know. If Harrow was his link, we've cut it. Crowne will feel the loss."
Marcus allowed himself a faint, grim smile. "We cannot let our guard down. Watch everyone, check everything, say nothing."
Outside, the fog drifted across the docks, muffling the city's noise. Inside, clarity had been forged from betrayal. They had uncovered the traitor. They had stripped Crowne of a weapon.
And though the city remained heavy with shadows, both men knew: the balance was shifting.
Marcus arrived home later that evening, the fog outside seeming to cling to the edges of the city like a ghost. He paused by the door, loosening his coat, but the weight of Harrow's confession pressed on his shoulders, heavier than any cloak.
Adrian looked up from the papers on the table, noting the tension in Marcus' posture. "You're home late," he said softly, but his eyes held concern rather than reproach.
Marcus exhaled, a hand running through his hair. "Harrow… we — I confronted him, it was painful."
Adrian set down his pen. "Are you alright?"
Marcus shook his head, his mind still circling the confrontation. "I trusted him. He worked alongside me for years. And yet, he undermined everything we built. All because of… envy. And Daniel — I can't stop thinking that somehow, I caused this. That I failed to see his frustration, his ambition… maybe I should have —"
"Stop." Adrian's voice was calm, but firm, cutting through Marcus's spiraling guilt. "You did nothing wrong. Harrow's actions are his own. You cannot be responsible for someone else's bitterness, Marcus. You gave him years of loyalty and guidance. That is more than most men would ever receive."
Marcus sank into a chair, staring into the fire. "And yet, I can't help feeling responsible. That if I had… noticed sooner, or handled things differently…"
Adrian came over, resting a steady hand on Marcus's shoulder. "You are not responsible for the choices of others. Harrow made his decision, and he acted on it. You were blindsided because he hid it. That is the nature of betrayalb— it comes from where you least expect it."
Marcus closed his eyes, drawing a slow, shaky breath. "I keep thinking of Daniel. He traced the fraud. If not for him —"
"You should be grateful for Daniel," Adrian interrupted gently. "He acted precisely because he learned from you, because of the standards you instilled. He didn't fail. He caught it. That is the measure of your leadership, not the measure of Harrow's resentment."
Marcus allowed himself a small, bitter smile. "Leadership, yes, but I thought loyalty was part of it too."
Adrian chuckled softly, though there was no mockery in it. "Loyalty is not guaranteed. And sometimes, it is tested in ways we cannot foresee. The important thing is how we respond. You and Daniel have uncovered the truth. You have acted swiftly. That is what matters."
Marcus nodded slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease fractionally. "We've cut Crowne's link. Harrow is out of the picture. But…" He hesitated. "The bitterness in him… it makes me wonder if there are others we haven't seen yet."
Adrian's gaze was sharp, reassuring. "Perhaps. But one thing is certain — you've done right. You and Daniel have acted with integrity. And whatever comes, you will deal with it, as you always do."
Marcus studied Adrian's face, the calm certainty in his friend's eyes seeping into him. For the first time since the confrontation, he allowed himself to believe it: Harrow's betrayal was his alone, and Marcus could move forward without guilt weighing him down.
Outside, the fog pressed on the windows, but inside, Marcus felt a measure of clarity returning. The night was heavy, yes — but it no longer pressed upon him like a stone.