2026-09-15 07:40:56Hearing what Bosworth Junior had just said, hearing him call Patricia's parents his future in-laws with that easy, confident smile still sitting on his face, Patricia's father could not help himself and started laughing, a warm, pleased laugh that made it clear he approved of everything Bosworth Junior represented, everything he had brought with him today, and everything he promised for the future.
Then Bosworth Junior's eyes finally landed on Derek.
He looked Derek up and down slowly, taking in the plain, worn clothing, the dust still clinging to his sleeves from the mountain road, the simple way he stood there without any jewelry, without any expensive accessories, without anything at all that suggested wealth or status or importance, and when Bosworth Junior spoke again, his voice carried just enough mockery to make sure everyone heard it.
"Who the hell is he?" he asked, gesturing toward Derek with one hand like he was pointing at something unpleasant he had found on the side of the road. "Do not tell me you people now keep errand boys hanging around your front gate or something, because this clearly looks like someone who just came back from the forest looking for handouts."
The moment those words left Bosworth Junior's mouth, Patricia's parents felt a wave of disgust and embarrassment crash over them so hard they almost could not breathe.
This was not what they had expected.
They had not expected Bosworth Junior to arrive today, had not expected him to bring Doctor Cole with him, and they certainly had not expected him to show up at the exact moment Derek was standing at their gate looking like he had just walked out of the wilderness with nothing but a letter and a ridiculous story about coming here to heal someone.
How were they supposed to explain this?
How were they supposed to tell Bosworth Junior, the man they hoped would one day marry their daughter, that the person standing in front of him dressed like a beggar was the same person Patricia had been betrothed to fifteen years ago?
They could not bring themselves to say it.
They could not even bring themselves to open their mouths, because the humiliation of admitting it out loud felt worse than staying silent and pretending Derek did not exist at all.
Before either of them could figure out what to say, Derek spoke.
"This should be the very last time you disrespect me," he said, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the laughter and the mockery and the silence that had settled over the group. "I do not want to hear another disrespecting word come out of your mouth. This should be the first and the last time you say something like that to me."
Immediately everyone froze.
Patricia's parents stared at Derek like they could not believe what they had just heard, like the words he had spoken were so shocking, so impossible, that their brains needed a few extra seconds to process them properly.
Bosworth Junior blinked once, twice, and then his smile slowly faded as he realized Derek had just spoken to him, had just challenged him, had just told him to watch his mouth as if Derek had any right to do so.
Nobody spoke to Bosworth Junior that way.
His family controlled half the businesses in Blue Lake City, his father sat on the board of every major corporation in the region, and Bosworth Junior himself had spent his entire life being treated like royalty wherever he went, so the idea that some random man dressed like a mountain hermit would stand there and tell him what he could and could not say was so absurd that for a moment, Bosworth Junior did not even know how to respond.
Patricia's jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides, and she looked like she was about to say something sharp and brutal, something that would put Derek back in his place once and for all.
But before anyone could say another word, before the moment could explode into something even uglier than it already was, one of the maids came running out of the house, her face pale and streaked with tears, her breathing fast and panicked as she stumbled down the stone path toward the group gathered at the gate.
"Mr. West is in critical condition!" she cried, her voice breaking as the words spilled out of her mouth. "He is in critical condition! Please, you have to come quickly!"
The effect was immediate.
All the anger, all the mockery, all the tension that had been building between Derek and Bosworth Junior and Patricia and her parents disappeared in an instant, replaced by shock and fear as Patricia's mother gasped and pressed one hand to her mouth.
"What?" Patricia's father said, his face going white. "What happened?"
The maid shook her head, still crying. "I do not know, but he collapsed, and now he is barely breathing, and the doctors inside do not know what to do, and—"
She did not get to finish.
Patricia turned and ran toward the house without another word, her military boots striking hard against the stone path as she sprinted toward the main entrance. Her parents followed immediately, their earlier composure completely shattered as they hurried after their daughter, and Bosworth Junior gestured sharply toward Doctor Cole before following them as well, his polished smile replaced by a look of genuine concern.
Derek stood there for a moment, watching them all rush toward the house, and then he followed quietly behind them, keeping his distance, keeping his steps calm and measured even as the group ahead of him moved faster and faster.
He did not want to cause any more trouble.
He did not want to argue, did not want to fight, did not want to waste time dealing with insults or accusations or anything else that would distract him from the one reason he had come here in the first place.
He had come to heal Old Master West.
That was all.
The group moved through the front doors of the estate, down a long marble hallway lined with paintings and expensive furniture, and then up a wide staircase that led to the second floor where the private rooms were located. Patricia reached the door first and threw it open without knocking, stepping inside with her parents and Bosworth Junior close behind her.
Derek followed them into the room a few seconds later, slipping in quietly through the doorway, and none of them even noticed he was there because their attention was focused entirely on the large bed in the center of the room where an old man lay motionless beneath the blankets, his face pale and sunken, his breathing so shallow it barely moved his chest.
Old Master West.
Patricia's grandfather.
The man Derek had been sent here to save.
Doctor Cole moved forward immediately, his expression serious and focused as he approached the bed and began checking Old Master West's pulse, his breathing, his temperature, moving quickly and efficiently through every examination he had been trained to perform. The room was silent except for the sound of his movements and the faint, labored breathing coming from the old man on the bed.
After what felt like an eternity, Doctor Cole stepped back and turned to face the family gathered behind him.
His face was grim.
"I am sorry," he said quietly. "But I do not think Mr. West is going to make it. No matter what is done for him at this point, he is going to die."
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Chapters 100
Inside, Derek washed his face. The water was cold, and it woke him up a little, and he changed his shoes — the ones still wet from the dew — and he stood there for a moment in the quiet room, looking at nothing, thinking about what she had said."Be careful."The first kind thing she had ever said to him. And now he had a choice to make, and he knew it, and he made it anyway.Kane's house. Nine o'clock. The book. The name. Vic, who had days and not weeks. Or the old man. Who had asked for him. Who had said, tell him I remember. He couldn't do both. He'd told himself all afternoon that he could — go to the old man first, be quick, be back by nine — but standing there in the quiet room, he knew that was a lie he was telling himself. Visits to dying men were never quick.Derek walked to the West mansion. He didn't run. He didn't hurry. He passed the market on the way, the stalls coming down, and he checked the clock above the square. Past eight. He still had time, if he was quick. If fiv
chapter 99
Derek left the old quarter with the sun going down.He'd told Samuel to leave tonight, and Samuel had nodded, slow, like a man agreeing to something he didn't want to agree to, and Harold had put a hand on his shoulder, and that was that. There wasn't anything else to say. Derek walked back through the lane, past the baskets and the cooking fires, and the smoke hung low, and it got in his eyes, and he didn't bother rubbing it out.The market was closing. The stalls were coming down, the traders packing up, and a woman was shouting at a boy who'd knocked over a basket of oranges, and the boy was laughing, and the woman was trying not to laugh, and Derek walked past all of it and thought about what he'd say to Kane at nine o'clock. He'd ask about the house on the hill first. See what he said. If he knew it, then the name in his book — the one that was scratched out — it lived in that house. And if he didn't know it — Derek didn't finish the thought. He never finished that thought. He ju
chapter 98
Derek hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, either, and his stomach knew it. His shoes were wet with dew from the walk, his coat smelled of the room under the house — dust and old herbs — and his eyes burned every time he blinked. He stood at the estate gate and waited for Harold, and the waiting was the worst part, because there was nothing to do but think, and thinking kept coming back to the same thing.The footsteps. In the house. Above him.He kept hearing them. Even now, in the quiet morning, with nothing around him but the gate and the road and the first smoke rising from the market. He kept hearing them.A car stopped at the corner. Harold got out, out of breath, carrying a paper bag."Young Master." Harold held the bag out. "Bread. Still warm. I didn't know if you'd eaten, and you never eat when you're —""I haven't," Derek said. He took the bread. It was warm. He tore off a piece and ate it standing there at the gate, and it was the best thing he'd tasted in days, w
Chapter 97
Derek walked to the estate in the dark.He did not go home. He did not call Harold. He walked through the quiet streets, past the closed shops and the shuttered stalls, and the key sat heavy in his pocket with every step. The city was asleep. The only sound was his own footsteps, and once, far away, a dog barking. He passed the market, its stalls covered and dark, and the river, black and still under the night sky. A night watchman stood at a corner, half asleep, and did not see him pass.He thought about the key, and about the room under the house, and about Vic, who had days and not weeks. The key had waited fifteen years. Vic could not wait. That was why Derek was walking now, and not tomorrow.The estate gates stood open. Derek walked through them and across the courtyard, and the house rose up in front of him, dark and silent. He had been here before, in the daylight, with Harold waiting at the gate. Now there was no one. The windows were dark. The front door was shut.Derek push
Chapter 96
In the morning, Derek went to the old quarter to see Samuel.The old quarter sat behind the market, down a narrow lane where the houses leaned close together and the air smelled of smoke and cooking oil. Derek had been there once before, in the dark, three nights ago. Now he came in daylight, and the lane was full of people carrying baskets and buckets, and children running between the stalls.Samuel's room was at the end of the lane, a small room with a wooden door and a window covered by a piece of cloth. Derek knocked. The door opened, and Samuel stood there, blinking in the daylight, his grey hair uncombed, his worn jacket hanging loose on his shoulders."You came back," Samuel said."Yes," Derek said.Samuel stepped aside and let him in. The room was small and bare — a bed, a wooden chair, a lantern by the door, a clay cup on the floor. Samuel sat down on the edge of the bed, and Derek sat on the chair across from him."I have been thinking since you came," Samuel said. "About th
Chapter 95
At nine o'clock, Derek stood outside the tall iron gate.He had walked the last three streets alone. Harold had driven him as far as the corner and waited there, the way Derek had told him to, and Derek had walked the rest on foot. He had stopped twice, once at a shop window and once at a street corner, and listened for footsteps behind him. There were none. The street was quiet.He passed the warehouse district on the way. Warehouse 7 stood dark and quiet by the river, and the smell of diesel and fish hung in the air. The ledger was still in the office drawer. The wage note was still folded in his pocket. Derek kept walking.The gate did not open. Derek stood outside it and waited. A full minute passed. Then another. The house was dark and quiet behind the iron bars, and no one came. Derek did not knock. He did not call out. He stood still, and he waited, and he thought about the book sitting on Kane's desk, and about the trap he had walked into — or the deal.Then the gate opened, a
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