P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Hattie thought it through. “So you’re saying that the deposits and payments back out to the vendors are proof that Longren Shipping is colluding with shanghaiers. How can you be certain?”

“It’s a well-known method of indebting the sailors to their handlers,” Frank insisted. “And the pattern of payments backs up what I’m saying.”

“Show me the entries,” she demanded.

He stood, bringing the ledger around to her side of the desk, placing it open before her and leaning down. She raised her head. Their gazes locked, and her breath backed up in her throat. She suddenly wished she weren’t wearing black, that her dress was made of one of the colorful fabrics she’d seen that morning at the dressmaker’s. That he would see her , not his enemy’s widow. Shaken, Hattie forced herself to focus on the ledger page.

After a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat and pointed. “See the third column of figures? The notations refer to account numbers which”—he reached out, his arm brushing her shoulder, and flipped to the back of the ledger—“correspond to names of boardinghouses and saloons that are known to let rooms.” He turned to yet a different section of the ledger. “And look here—this is your petty cash account. The dates of these credits match those of the payments associated with the first vendor entry for the crew. They’re probably kickbacks to Johnson, but there are no explanations regarding to whom the money goes. Cash is notoriously difficult to track.”

He turned his head to regard her, a lock of dark brown hair falling across his high forehead. She had the strongest urge to brush the hair back from his eyes, and she clasped her hands in her lap, mortified. How could she have these irrational feelings, so soon after Charles’s death, and with this man, of all men?

Returning to his chair, he said, as if nothing had transpired between them, “Longren Shipping is making a tidy profit, but it’s coming at the expense of the crews you hire. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“But we have no concrete proof that you are correct.”

“No, not without further documentation. You’ll need the chart of accounts, which provides a detailed explanation of the purpose of each account represented by a number in the ledger, and you’ll have to request from Johnson or his clerk a documented list of the petty cash payments.”

She nodded. “Very well. I will return to the office tomorrow and demand that information.”

“I’ll ask around on the docks, see whether anyone has heard any rumors. I can also verify the dates ships came into port and set sail, which should tie to the dates of the deposits.” He hesitated, frowning. “Mrs. Longren …”

“You called me Hattie down at the beach,” she reminded him. “We’ve gone beyond formal names, I believe.”

Frank’s expression turned self-deprecating. “I doubt that’s a good idea, but very well … Hattie.” He paused a second time. “Are you certain you want to pursue this line of inquiry? It’s not without an element of risk.”

“Yes, I’m certain.”

He frowned. “As a union organizer, I’m pleased you are acting honorably. And I can’t deny that the opportunity to convert Longren Shipping to a union house would be a major coup, in terms of both workers’ rights and a boost to the credibility of the union. But … I’m concerned about your welfare.” He seemed uncomfortable with the admission, and she was unaccountably touched. “It would be hard enough for a man to take on this task, let alone a woman.” He hesitated, then added, “And Johnson won’t back you up.”

“Clive Johnson has fought me since the day we received word of Charles’s death,” she pointed. “His lack of support will be nothing new.”

“It’s in his best interests to keep you away from the business. He’s benefiting from the current arrangement, far beyond the salary you pay him.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“It’s rumored on the docks.”

Hattie thought about it. A system of lucrative kickbacks would certainly explain Johnson’s fury over her “meddling” in the business. She paused, wondering whether she should trust Frank, then went with her instincts. Rising, she opened the safe, careful to keep the door angled so he couldn’t see the cash. Removing the small journal, she opened it to the list of dollar amounts in the back and handed it to him. “Do these mean anything to you?”

He glanced down the list, then whistled softly. “This is a substantial amount of money—I’ve known men to kill for far less.” He took back the ledger and searched through the entries once more. “I can find no corresponding payments of these amounts, nor any obvious smaller payments to a similar account or description that would add up to these sums. Have you checked your personal household accounts?”

“No.” She felt foolish that she hadn’t thought to do so. “I’ll look at those this evening, but surely the amounts are far too exorbitant?”

Frank shrugged. “The explanation could be as simple as payments to workmen and landscapers, perhaps combined with some personal investments, though you’re right—I can’t fathom the house costing even close to that amount.”

She hadn’t considered the possibility of other business ventures. Her thoughts returned to the stacks of cash in the safe. It was possible that Charles had invested in side business ventures such as the railroad, and that the cash represented his return on those investments. But why keep so much cash around? Why not deposit it in the bank, unless he hadn’t wanted any record of receiving it?

Frank’s expression remained troubled. “My advice would be that you don’t show these to anyone else. At least, for now.”

“Because they could have something to do with Longren Shipping?”

“Possibly. The fact that they don’t show up as legitimate accounting entries indicates they might be associated with illegal contraband that wouldn’t be listed as inventory. Have you ever heard your husband discuss opium or other smuggled items?”

“Absolutely not.” She halted her unconscious defense of him. “Though from what I’ve been told, Charles evidently did his best to shield me from what he did, even socially.”

“You’re referring to his visits to the Green Light,” Frank said softly.

She flushed. “Then the rumors are true?”

He contemplated her, probably trying to decide what to reveal. “It’s not my place to discuss his … proclivities. If you want answers, ask Mona.”

“I have a right to know.”

He hesitated. “You’re right, you do. But I’ll not be the one to tell you, and if I had my way, I’d make certain you never found out the details.”

She wanted to push him, but she could tell by his expression it would do no good. She sighed. “Then I will be in touch. I’ll request the documentation you mentioned first thing in the morning.”

“Very well.” Frank stood, his gaze warm, yet worried. “Most women wouldn’t even consider taking this on.”

She shrugged. “You may have been right all along—I may not have any clue about the man I married,” she admitted. “But I’m determined to find out.”

“If Clive Johnson is complicit in what we have discovered today, he won’t change his ways without a fight. And the fact that you’re a woman won’t even give him pause.”

“I refuse to be afraid of him,” she said, her chin lifting. “I own the company, and I will have control.”

Frank walked to the door, then turned to quietly study her one last time. She had the oddest feeling he wanted to say something of a personal nature, but he said instead, “I’ll expect to hear from you.”

With a nod, he walked out as he had come, through the kitchen.