Page 78 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"Keep going," I nod.

She does. Gideon remains silent, and the silence worries me a lot, because Gideon usually says something, even if it's only to complain. Today he keeps reading. That tells me enough.

I pull another folder closer. "The names are important."

Neither of them responds, still reading. Good. Let the records speak. They're doing a better job than I could.

Iris flips another page, then another, then stops completely. Her eyes narrow. "No."

I lean back. "That was my reaction too."

She immediately grabs another report, comparing, checking, verifying, the frown deepening, then deepening again. The room feels increasingly heavy.

Gideon finally speaks, quietly. "When did you find this?"

"Yesterday."

The answer earns a look, a dangerous one, not because he's angry but because he's realizing how serious this is.

I move the documents closer. "Look at the names."

He follows my finger. The list stretches across decades—merchants, traders, ship owners, fishing captains, business partners, independent exporters, people who disappeared, people who died unexpectedly, people lost during accidents at sea.

Iris slowly lowers a page, her face gone pale. "They all competed with him."

The hall becomes quiet. Nobody needs clarification. We all know who she means.

Aldric.

"Every single one," I nod.

He immediately reaches for another report, then another, then another, the pages spreading across the table. An ugly picture begins forming, one neither of them likes. Neither do I.

Iris looks toward me. "You're telling me this has been happening for years?"

"No." Then I stare at the oldest document, and her eyes follow. Realization strikes immediately. "Oh."

Exactly. Oh. Years would have been easier. Years would have been comforting. Unfortunately, the records tell a different story.

"This goes back decades," I say quietly.

The words settle heavily between us. Gideon exhales slowly, his gaze remaining fixed on the documents. A merchant dies, another gains the route. A trader disappears, another gains the contract. A ship sinks, Aldric's influence grows. The pattern repeats, again and again and again. Not identical. Close enough.

The room grows silent once more, the kind of silence people make when confronting something ugly.

Iris eventually pushes away from the table. "This isn't coincidence."

"No."

Gideon closes another folder, his expression carefully controlled. Unfortunately, I've known him long enough to see the anger beneath it. The realization hits him hard—not merely because people died, but because he helped govern the town while it happened. The thought clearly bothers him. As it should.

Iris folds her arms. "How many?"

The question hangs heavily. Nobody answers immediately, because nobody knows. Not yet.

I examine the stack of records. "More than we can currently prove."

The answer sounds inadequate, because it is. The number is bigger than any of us want.