The man who spoke solemnly about responsibility and respectable business.
His name sat beneath entries that had destroyed families.
And perhaps killed Elias's brother.
Clara felt suddenly sick.
Elias noticed.
"Sit down."
She shook her head.
"No."
"Clara."
She looked at him.
He pulled out a chair.
"Please."
She sat.
For several moments, she stared at the fire.
Then whispered, "I saw something."
Elias leaned forward.
"What?"
"In Nathaniel's office."
She swallowed.
"Three weeks before he sent me here."
The memory came back with terrible clarity.
Chicago.
Late October.
Rain against the windows of their elegant townhouse.
Nathaniel had returned from the bank unusually agitated.
He dismissed the servants early and told Clara not to disturb him.
She had gone upstairs.
Then realized she left her mother's silver locket in the sitting room.
When she returned, Nathaniel was in his study.
The door stood slightly open.
She heard him speaking with his mother.
Helena Whitcomb.
A woman whose expensive gowns and immaculate manners concealed a temperament colder than any Wyoming winter.
Clara had never liked her.
Helena considered affection a weakness, obedience a virtue, and money the clearest measure of human worth.
She had spent six years reminding Clara that marrying into the Whitcomb family was an honor.
That evening, Clara heard Helena say something she never forgot.
"The Avery papers should have been settled years ago."
Nathaniel replied, "They would have been if she hadn't begun asking questions."
Helena's voice became sharper.
"Then stop giving her opportunities."
Clara remained motionless outside the door.
Nathaniel spoke again.
"The original acknowledgment could become a problem."
"Only if someone examines it."
"And if they do?"
A long silence followed.
Then Helena said, "There are ways to remove a problem without creating a scandal."
Clara remembered feeling suddenly cold.
At the time, she believed they were discussing a troublesome business partner.
She had no reason to connect the conversation to herself.
Then Nathaniel said, "She's my wife."
Helena answered, "Precisely. Which means you know her habits better than anyone."
Clara had retreated before they noticed her.
For days afterward, she told herself she misunderstood.
Then she found the ledger.
A week later, Nathaniel announced that their marriage had become untenable.
He accused her of embarrassing the family.
Claimed she needed time away.
And presented the letter promising employment at a Wyoming hunting lodge.
Clara remembered the way Helena watched her accept the envelope.
Not triumphantly.
Not angrily.