Note: this is the second chapter posted in two days; if the last thing you read was Jack dying, then you have missed a chapter and should really go back one.

Story

William Weatherall Wilkins was waiting in the director's office. He had two lawyers with him, whose sole purpose was to back him up should anyone at any point question his whereabouts when a certain slave was injured. It was probably unnecessary. Even if Johnson was caught, and Wilkins honestly did not think he would be, there was no reason for anyone to assume he acted on Wilkins' orders, unless Johnson was stupid enough to try and blame him. No, if Johnson turned on him, Wilkins had a million shocked reasons why he had no idea he had hired the very man who had attacked a slave who worked at this bank!

Why, Johnson had come to him begging for a job, saying being an officer was getting to be too much, and Wilkins had no reason to doubt his word. And what account was Johnson saying he gave him? The bank had no record. Clearly Wilkins pursued his own vengeance and Wilkins was only an unwitting pawn. Look, at the time of the property destruction, Wilkins was having a meeting with his lawyers concerning a bank employee who had fallen behind on his loans due to grief after the death of his wife, trying to find a legal way to help the poor man. No, Wilkins would come out of it even better than he entered, should it come to that. But it probably wouldn't. Wilkins was preparing himself to reveal his shocked and horrified face when he was informed of the death of a slave in the bank.

"And Banks will have no recourse, should the document turn up after today?" Wilkins asked, because the meeting might be a sham but he might as well put it to good use.

"Unfortunately," said Mr. Frye, with oddly honest regret for his line of business. "Once repossession has been completed, there is no legal way for Mr. Banks to get his house back, short of buying it back, of course."

"The items within the house, however, are retained by Mr. Banks," Mr. Gooding added, also regretfully at the loss, "Excepting those left in the house after midnight, when the property becomes Bank property."

"Not to worry," Mr. Frye said, "I made sure they were well aware of this fact so I am sure they won't leave anything of importance behind."

Gooding and Wilkins shared a look that was completely missed by Mr. Frye. Gooding shuffled his papers.

"Yes, well," he said. "So everything is perfectly legal and sound; they have been duly informed. And if Mr. Banks has any sense, he will be leaving behind that old slave of his in the house; tax break or not she must be a drain on his resources by this point in life."

"Oh, but she is part of the family!" Mr. Frye objected.

"What if an audit is ordered of the Banks' accounts?" Wilkins interrupted before the discussion devolved further into sentimentality. "And if an account book were found to be…damaged?"

"In that very unlikely situation," Gooding said, "I would advise giving no answer during the resulting interrogation. Neither confirm nor deny the existence of…say…a missing page. Allow us to speak for you. They can have no proof of wrongdoing on your part; and while it will not look good for the Bank, I believe it can survive the scandal should we shift attention to your predecessor. At any rate, should the damage be complete in its nature, any missing parts unable to be found or reconstructed…there is no proof to back up any claims of what the missing document might have held. And unless the document contained proof of payments towards the loan…?"

"Speaking purely hypothetically, the ledger I am considering would not contain such proof."

"…then the repossession would still hold in any case."

Frye frowned at them.

"But…should we not be searching for any missing documents?" he asked. "We are holding this meeting to try and save Mr. Banks' household, and if a missing document could aid us, not to mention stop a potential scandal regarding the bank…"

"Of course," Wilkins answered smoothly, glancing at Gooding but keeping his smile trained on Frye. "I only noted, when I looked for the record of the late Banks' shares with the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank that there was a discrepancy between the pages. Nothing I could act upon, but a worry, nonetheless. I fear the document in question is long gone, though, and of no use except to embarrass the Bank if anyone discovers it to be missing."

"Well," Frye said, soothed, "I have given some thought to how to help Mr. Banks and I believe we have one recourse. We repossess his house…and then sell it back to him over time at the cost of his original loan plan at an employee discount."

"That is not a financially sound decision for the Bank," Gooding objected sternly, and Frye's face fell.

"I only thought…seeing as it was a mistake…"

"No, no, Mr. Frye has a point," Wilkins countered. "These are difficult times and it could only benefit the Bank to appear understanding. If not selling back his house, for that would be a difficult move to explain to the board, perhaps leasing it back. Allow Banks and his family to live in it, with the possibility of a buyback, should he have the funds."

It would be a win for Wilkins either way, and magnanimously giving back the house, while retaining all the profit, suited Wilkins well. It pleased Frye, because they were helping a 'poor widower' and it pleased Wilkins because it would improve his own image while costing him nothing. Gooding gave Wilkins the impressed look a weasel might give a wolf, one predator to another.

And they might have gotten away with it all, but for one very overlooked woman sitting right outside their door.

Yes, the doors were made to be completely soundproof, that is true. She had no way of hearing through the doors everything that went on in that room. And if Wilkins had been the true director of the bank, it might have stayed that way.

Wilkins was not the director of the bank. The director of the bank, Mr. Dawes, jr. was an old man and a prudent man. What he was not, was an overly paranoid man. He did not hold questionable meetings in his office that could lead to legal trouble should anyone overhear. Yes, he did have sensitive meetings but that is not quite the same thing. And Mr. Dawes, jr. found it convenient for his personal attendant to have direct auditory access to said meetings. It meant that he did not have to dodder over to the door, or even pick up the phone, to call for her to send whatever he needed. It meant he had another pair of ears taking notes during important meetings. It meant that as his own faculties naturally decreased with age, and he was far from the senility Wilkins' rumors had suggested but he was not immune to aging either, he had a younger person to make sure he did not forget anything important.

It meant that as his nephew began to take over, he had a covert ally who could pass on anything truly important.

Wilkins might think he had been sneaky in usurping his uncle's role in the bank. The truth was, Mr. Dawes, jr. found it convenient to let the young man take a stab at the numerous and draining tasks of running a bank. He found it funny, rather than horribly rude, the rumors spread concerning himself. It was not anything that hadn't been said for years before. He'd always come off as a bit eccentric. He treated his slave with almost the same respect given to a free Citizen secretary, for one, and didn't allow anyone else to not do the same. He was given to gadding about the park, flying kites or playing games with the children there. He fed the birds by the cathedral. He married a foreign woman and sired a son by her. And when the son vanished, and his distraught wife, already frail, died of grief, he held a funeral for her just as grand as if she had been a duchess. And when his nephew made a move to do the more tedious aspects of his job, well, he was close to retirement anyway. He was tired. The loss of his son had weakened him, too. He loved the bank, but it was the people, not the money, he loved, and he was tired.

And then Penny called him and informed him of some very questionable meetings that Wilkins had been holding.

Wilkins could check the room for hidden wires all he wanted; her way of listening in was both simpler and subtler. Simply put, a hole had been drilled in the wall next to her desk. She could not, of course, put her ear to a wall without looking questionable, so a small microphone had been up to the hole and the entire thing covered by a small painting. The microphone was attached in turn to the phone on her desk. If she wished to listen into the room, all she had to do was act as if she had received a phone call, and flick on a button under her desk that would turn on the microphone.

It was not a perfect arrangement; she had heard very little of Wilkin's conversation with Jones as the man had been very careful and quiet even thinking himself unheard. Wilkins, like most criminally inclined individuals, was cautious. But not all the time. He rarely bothered to do anything more when talking to his lawyers than to avoid saying anything outright incriminating, relying on subtleties. And by the time he had spoken to Johnson, Wilkins was so annoyed he had treated the man like another lawyer and Penny had been able to hear every word.

She had struggled with what to do with the information. Tell her actual master, certainly. But Mr. Dawes, jr. went to bed early that evening and had not answered her call, and it was not the sort of thing one could leave as a message with his servants or household slaves. She could not go to the police because she was only a slave and she had no proof. And the man she wished to accuse was an officer, not even yet a former officer even if he was currently suspended.

By rather unfortunate luck, Mr. Dawes, jr. rose early, did not bother to read his messages, which included a note that Penny had called to report a very urgent situation at the bank, and had gone out to enjoy the morning. He was sitting quietly at a café when Penny called again. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilkins happened to approach the office at almost that moment, so instead of being able to demand that the message be passed on to Mr. Dawes, jr. immediately, she had to calmly pretend to be handling a normal early morning phone call and hang up.

"Good morning, Penny," said Wilkins, perfectly pleasant as they were out in public, even if no one else was actually around to see it. This was partly why Wilkins was so convincing in his act; he kept it up even when spies were unlikely so he was almost never caught out by surprise. "Have the teaboy send up morning coffee, with some of the ordinary biscuits. Then set up a noon meeting with Mr. Gooding and Mr. Frye. Have food delivered, not the Bank sandwiches, please, but nothing too…ostentatious. They are only lawyers, after all."

And he smiled at her, as if he had made a joke and she laughed accordingly.

"Very well, sir," she answered, "I will refrain from ordering roasted peacock." Perhaps too familiar for a slave, but then, Wilkins was always so careful of her, aware she was not truly his slave, and the familiar banter suited his image so he allowed it with a smile. A skilled and discreet slave in her position could be afforded some liberties.

She did as he asked, and he went into the office and, rather regrettably, left the door open. He did that, sometimes, when he had no meetings and no reason to fear prying eyes. He thought it made him look more approachable and helped the image he was trying to cultivate. It did mean Penny could not try another phone call without being obvious about it.

She fretted, quietly. She didn't know Jack, not really, but she had seen him around. She remembered him. He was the one who smiled when he brought tea or mail, who was friendly without being flirtatious. She liked him. Anyway, she couldn't sit back and just wait knowing any fellow slave was about to be murdered. She did not know why Wilkins had it in for this particular slave, but she had heard what she had heard, and he was in danger and she felt time passing and no way to pass on her information to anyway.

Then Jack delivered the morning tea. It should have been the perfect time for a warning to be given. Unfortunately, Wilkins stood in the doorway and watched him deliver it, likely to confirm it was Jack working that position. Not that he could admit to that reason; he tried to pass it off as being friendly towards a slave who was clearly in some distress, what with the wrapped wrist and the 'light duty' attachment to his collar.

"Our teaboy returns!" he said. "No, let Penny, I can see your arm is giving you trouble. Terrible business, that. I can't believe they have you running around."

"Not to worry, sir," answered Jack, "I will have a companion soon who can take on most of the running around." He sounded polite and far too cheerful considering he was facing the man plotting his demise. Not that he had any way of knowing that, or any way for Penny to warn him. If she had had advance notice, she might have written him a note and could only hope he could read it, but it was far too late to write one with Wilkins hovering over them.

"Well, I hope your companion arrives soon. Do you at least get a long break?"

"Shorter than usual, actually, sir," Jack admitted. "I am on light duties so I get off earlier but I only get half an hour break in the middle."

"Why, Penny here gets a full hour!" Wilkins said, commiserating.

Jack didn't seem to know how to answer that, but he was far too wary of Wilkins to say nothing, so he settled on, "Yes, sir."

"How long does your companion get, then?" Wilkins asked.

"Two hours, sir," Jack answered. Then, as if anticipating a complaint that might get his friend in trouble, "That is to make up for starting early and leaving off late. It is fair, sir."

It wasn't fair at all, really; Penny had seen how hard the leeries worked and it seemed to her that the hour and a half extra in no way compensated, but it wasn't her place to say and it would be dangerous for Jack to try and say it himself.

"Well, I must insist you take the early break, at least," Wilkins said, as if bestowing a blessing and not as if that would just mean a longer afternoon.

"I will, sir," Jack affirmed, "There is hardly anybody as needs service then anyway."

Then he left, without Penny being able to tell him anything. His companion came an hour later to retrieve the tea tray, and Penny actually did manage to slip him a note. Unfortunately for all, she was too subtle. She put between a cup and saucer, and both were placed, by Freddie, together in the sink without the paper ever being found or read. Penny hoped anyway, having no way of knowing this. But there were too many things that could go wrong for her to be really confident her note had done any good. Firstly, the slaves had to notice it. Secondly, they had to be able to read it. And thirdly, for she didn't dare write anything too incriminating, considering it might be found by the wrong person, they had to understand it to be a warning. But it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Wilkins left his door open all morning, and it was almost time for Penny's own lunch break and maybe she could find someone then to tell in person, but maybe by then it would be too late. Jack went on his lunch break earlier than her; the early break started at 11:30 and her own would not start until 12, and surely the attack could not happen before then because he would be with people until then but…a lot could happen between her getting off her shift and actually finding someone to help. Because she did not doubt she would be no help if she tried to defend him personally. She had to find someone trustworthy and strong. And the door was still open.

It was at around a quarter to twelve, the time when Wilkins would have his meeting with the lawyers and Penny should go on her break, and Mr. Dawes, jr. had not yet seemed to have gotten her earlier message or called her back, and time was running out, when two fortunate events occurred.

The first was simply that Wilkins asked her to confirm that the food would be arriving soon.

"Of course, sir," she answered. And she started to call the restaurant, realized a sudden opportunity, and instead called the household of Mr. Dawes, jr.

"Good morning," she said, when the phone was answered, "I am calling on behalf of Mr. Wilkins, acting as Director to the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank to confirm the requested food will arrive in time for his twelve o'clock meeting."

"Penny?" asked the voice at the other end, for she called often enough to be recognized. "I think you have the wrong…"

"Yes, we do wish to include a plate of rolls for the table," Penny interrupted. "Please ensure it arrives promptly, Mr. Wilkins has very important business and we need it here, at the bank, as soon as possible. It is of Utmost Importance."

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, and Penny waited to see if she would be understood, or if the person receiving the call would simply think she had gone mad.

"Yes, understood," said the voice at the other end, all business and no confusion. "I will make sure Mr. Wilkins' important business meeting is attended to promptly. Er…just to cover all quarters…which dining establishment were you trying to confirm would include a plate of rolls?"

"Thank you, we shall be sure to turn to Cheddarton's Diner for our future needs," Penny said, feeling almost giddy with relief as she ended the call. He would be told. He would come. And the household slave on the other end of the phone even had the good sense to confirm with the restaurant for her. But would he come in time?

"Good call, the plate of rolls," Wilkins commented, none the wiser. "Wait for the food to arrive and once it is arranged you can go on your own break. Here, make sure you get something nice; you deserve it." He handed her an extra food and drink credit, then left her to her post.

The door was left open.

Mr. Dawes, jr. would be summoned, but there was no knowing how soon he could be found or when he would arrive. In the meantime, Penny was suddenly almost certain that the terrible deed was meant to be enacted soon. If Jack were to be left alone…well, during the lunch hour the entire downstairs was almost deserted. She should have time. She would have had time.

Except twelve o'clock came, and the lawyers arrived promptly, and the food did not.

Wilkins tsked, for they had already confirmed, and had her call the restaurant again. She did so faithfully this time, and was apologized to, probably more profusely than they would have done had they realized they were talking to a slave.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, trying to be polite through gritted teeth, to not show her own frustration and helplessness. "It seems there was a problem with their delivery van, but they expect it to arrive within the quarter hour. Shall I go down to wait for them?"

"No need," said Mr. Gooding, "A slave girl won't give the proper impression of our displeasure. Mr. Frye should go down and let them know how displeased we are."

"Yes, car troubles are so difficult," Mr. Frye said, completely missing his companions point but still robbing Penny of the chance to leave early. And without the food and one lawyer missing, Wilkins did not bother to start the meeting but left the door open yet again. In fact, Wilkins was secretly pleased; between the delivery driver and Penny being late to leave off for her own break, he would have an even more solid alibi than he'd anticipated.

But the food was delivered in due course, and the door was closed. There was no longer any need to make calls, since Penny was certain that Mr. Dawes, Jr would be along at any moment. But he had not arrived yet. And she was certain that Jack was in mortal peril at that very moment. She had to tell someone who could help.

And then the second fortunate event occurred and Frank, who had been assigned the mailroom, and who had also taken an early break and was now on duty, came to deliver Wilkin's mail.

Penny sized him up, snatched the mail and just tossed it on her desk without looking at it, then seized him by the elbow and half dragged him into the stairwell.

To his credit, he didn't fight her, because slaves help other slaves and he could see she had something urgent to impart. He didn't expect what she actually had to share.

"Wilkins hired a security guard and intends him to murder Jack," she said, soft spoken in case of listening ears, once they had gone down a flight. Frank stumbled slightly, grasping at the handrail.

"What…?" he said, "What do you mean…"

"Exactly as I have said," she hissed at him, "He has arranged for Jack to be alone, and I know that Jack is alone in the tearoom right now, and I have called Mr. Dawes, jr. but he has not gotten here yet and obviously we cannot call the police so…just make sure Jack is not alone."

"I…right," and Frank ran down the stairs so fast he half slid along the rail even though he didn't go so far as to sit on it.

Then Penny turned around and went back the way she had come. Never mind that she was hungry for her own lunch. Some things were more important, and she had a meeting to listen in on.