“Mrs. Mercer.”
“Mr. Voss.”
“I represent Western Consolidated Claims.”
Of course.
Elias’s face became cold.
“You bought her debt.”
“Assigned.”
“Same thing.”
Harlan opened the portfolio.
“The note is valid.”
Clara took the paper.
Her signature appeared at the bottom.
C. Whitmore.
She stared.
It looked like hers.
Almost.
“What was the loan for?”
Harlan answered.
“Capital investment in Mr. Whitmore’s shipping concern.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Frederick had no shipping concern.”
“He invested.”
“He gambled.”
Harlan shrugged.
“The distinction is emotional.”
Elias took a step.
Clara touched his arm.
Again.
Not yet.
She studied the note.
Then the date.
March 14, 1884.
Her chest tightened.
“This is false.”
Harlan’s smile faded.
“Your signature says otherwise.”
“I was in Philadelphia that week.”
“With my aunt.”
“How convenient.”
“She was dying.”
“Also convenient.”
Elias’s eyes turned dangerous.
Clara squeezed his sleeve.
“Do you have witnesses?”
Harlan asked.
“My aunt is dead.”
“Then no.”
“Hotel register.”
“Perhaps.”
“Train ticket.”
“Perhaps.”
Harlan closed the folder.
“The debt with interest now exceeds seven hundred dollars.”
Clara looked at him.
“What do you want?”
He smiled again.
“There are alternatives to cash.”
Elias spoke.
“No.”
Harlan ignored him.
“Mrs. Mercer owns an undivided half interest in the southern meadow and spring.”
Clara felt the trap close.
There it was.
“Coincidentally,” Harlan continued, “Western Consolidated would accept assignment of one-quarter interest in satisfaction.”
Elias laughed once.
No humor.
“You forged a debt to get the spring.”
Harlan's expression cooled.
“Careful.”
“You heard me.”
Harlan turned toward Clara.
“Your husband is emotional about property.”
“You are emotional about hearing no.”
she replied.
His eyes narrowed.
“You have thirty days.”
“Then?”
“I file suit.”
He mounted his horse.
Before leaving, he looked at Elias.
“You should have sold when the offer was generous.”
Then he rode away.