F is for Fury (Camden's Story) (*On Hold*)

10 A Professional Rejection

It was still rubble. All these months later, still nothing remained of Porter's Bookshelf but ash and twisted metal. Something in my gut wound tight at the sight of it and did not alleviate the entire time I stood on the street, staring at the burnt wallpaper fluttering in the breeze, the dusty stones crushed underfoot, broken spines of books that her family had spent a lifetime collecting only to serve as no more than kindling at the hands of my father. I saw the sign in the front, letters half burned away, leaning against the building next door as if someone had tried to salvage it and gave up only moments later.

My father ruined her life.

For the first time, I could see what she meant. This was her family's livelihood, their pride and joy, their only means of survival. And he had taken it from them for some petty debt. He had burned away everything she had ever known in an evening. And she had been brave enough to go straight to the police to report it. Or at least, to start to report it. I couldn't help but wonder what had stopped her.

"Looking to purchase the property?" someone asked and I turned to find a vaguely familiar looking man standing at my side. His hands were on his hips and his eyes squinted against the sunlight as he eyed the pile of rubble in front of us.

"Is it for sale?" I replied.

His lips fell into a frown at that.

"Not officially," he confessed. "I know the owner. He's attached but... could be convinced. For the right price."

He glanced my way then and his eyes widened a fraction in recognition.

"I know you," he said. "You're Camden Keene."

Just that like, my foul mood returned.

"Good day, sir," I said, starting to walk away.

"Wait, I'm Jonathan Birmingham. I've owned the shop next to yours for years."

I hesitated. He knew me because of my father's shop, because of Keene's Clothiers, not because of everything that had been in the news about my family lately. At least, not only because of that. I turned to face him again.

"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced," he claimed, holding out a hand for me to shake. I did. "You were always so busy coming and going."

"Indeed," I said, noncommittally. I still wasn't sure what he was about and I preferred to stay on my guard around new men I met until I could be sure of their intentions.

"Trying to expand your business then?" he asked, jerking his chin back over his shoulder to the ruined lot where Porter's Bookshop used to stand. He asked it jovially enough but I could sense the hint of fear in the question. He was a businessman, after all, a competing merchant. If Keene's Clothiers were to expand, we could very well run him out of business.

"Do you know what happened here?"

"Unfortunately. I was close with the family, you see. In fact, the man's middle daughter, Charlotte, and I were engaged once."

My fists clenched involuntarily at my sides and I grit my teeth to keep from speaking as he continued.

"Her dad got into some gambling debt once their mother died," he told me. "Owed a bunch of money to, as it turns out, your father. One night, some thugs came to collect and Mr. Porter couldn't pay. Next thing I know, the whole building's in flames and Charlotte's running right through the door. Comes out a few minutes later, dragging her father and sister along, all of them coughing and covered in soot. It was too late by the time the fire brigade arrived. All they could do was contain it and let it burn down."

I stared at the ash in front of me in awe. I'd surmised enough of what had happened. Her father owed mine and he didn't pay. I knew what George Keene did to those indebted to him who couldn't pay him back. I wasn't surprised that he had sent men to destroy their only means of doing so. But I hadn't known that she had run straight into the flames to save her family. I hadn't known that they had been caught inside during the blaze. I hadn't known how close she had come to nearly dying because of my father.