guilty, they can wrest her from my protection.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened. The dour-faced young woman who had reprimanded Yoke Soo? “She didn’t do it, did she?”
“Of course not. It’s an age-old trick. If they can get her away from the safety of the Mission Home, she’ll vanish into the night and we’ll lose track of her.”
“Vanish?”
Donaldina sighed. “It’s a game of cat and mouse. They’d secret her away—move her up to Oregon or Idaho. I’ve chased girls as far as Portland. Some we recover, many we do not.”
Elizabeth dropped her spoon. “How could a judge let such things happen?”
The missionary blinked twice, as if fighting tears. “I ask the same question every time, Elizabeth. Every single time.”
Chapter 6
6
Charles wrapped an elbow around the cable car’s brass rail, his free hand rubbing bleary eyes. He’d spent most of the late night hours memorizing the stack of files from his briefcase. Likely as not, he’d only be expected to observe this morning, but after years in law school, he’d learned not to cut corners. Surprise questions and unannounced examinations were the rule of the day. In order to avoid humiliation, one always overprepared.
The conveyance jerked to a stop, and Charles lost his balance for a moment. Releasing the pole, he hopped to the cobblestones, hurrying across Market Street to the courts’ temporary lodgings in the Grant Building. Just a block away from the ruined City Hall and the Hall of Records, what the office building lacked in grandeur, it made up for in functionality.
Charles swiped a hand across his forehead, glaring at the moisture collected on his fingertips. He hadn’t been this keyed up since his first day of college. Of course, Henry’s unpalatable descriptions of Spencer didn’t help.
Charles rehearsed the arguments in his mind. Would Spencer start with the scanty photographic evidence? As he approached the massive doors, one opened. A familiar young woman brushed past him without a glance.
Elizabeth King halted on the curb, her face similar in color to the sidewalk under her feet.
Charles grasped her elbow. “Miss King—are you quite well?” He tugged her back a step. “Why are you here?”
She locked her round eyes on him, her fingers dropping onto his forearm. “Mr. McKinley?”
He nodded. “You look as if you’ve spied a ghost.”
She dropped her hand, the veil of good breeding rushing back over her. “I’m quite well. Thank you for your concern.” She glanced up at the Grant Building. Her eyes narrowed. “Is your uncle here, too?”
Charles released her elbow. “No. Not today.” Why did he always feel compelled to rush to a woman’s rescue, even when he wasn’t wanted? “I’m glad to see you made it to San Francisco safely.”
“I’m here with Miss Cameron.” Her color returned. “I—I just needed a breath of air. You must have business inside. I shouldn’t keep you.”
“Yes, I’m expected in court—if you’re certain you don’t need assistance.” She doesn’t want your help. Can’t you see?
“I’m fine. You go ahead.” She turned her back, as if in dismissal.
His thoughts scattered as he stepped through the doors. Two people in a large city, and they both happen to be at the courts on the same day? He shook his head. His mother always said God moved in mysterious ways.
Charles trained his mind on the matters at hand. The files regarding the Transatlantic Insurance Company contained a massive amount of complex information and detail. Likely as not, the trial would drag on for weeks—months, even. He skirted groups of people, their muted conversations trailing him down the hallway. He’d need to familiarize himself with the opposition if he hoped to be a vital part of the process.
He stepped off the elevator at the fourth floor, checking the clerk’s sketched map.
Several well-dressed men stood outside the courtroom, their boisterous conversation carrying down the passage.
Charles stopped short. The man at the judge’s side matched Henry’s description of Frederick Spencer. The attorney’s smile gleamed, almost as if he oiled his teeth in addition to his hair.
The robed judge clasped him on the shoulder. “You just saved us all quite a lengthy headache, Mr. Spencer. I must admit, I’m more than relieved—I’m delighted.”
Spencer grasped the third man’s hand and pumped it. “Pleasure doing business with you, Robbins. You’ve made a wise decision that will save your company millions.”
Robbins nodded. “Can’t say I’m pleased, but I believe you’re right. It’s a fair arrangement. Just see you abide by it. I want no more claims to cross my desk, you hear?”
Spencer’s mouth quirked up on one side. “A deal’s a deal. And a profitable one at that.”
Robbins and the judge proceeded down the hall together as Spencer shoved a file into his briefcase.
Charles stepped forward. “Mr. Spencer?”
The man’s head jerked up, his eyes gray as granite. “Yes?”
Charles thrust his hand out. “Charles McKinley. It’s a pleasure.”
Spencer’s brows lowered. “Oh. McKinley. Yes, your uncle told me to expect you.” He shook Charles’s hand with a grip that made the younger man’s knuckles pop. “Too bad you wasted a trip.”
“What do you mean?”
“We arrived at a mutual agreement. Best for all involved.”
Charles’s skin prickled. “The insurance company settled out of court?”
Spencer chuckled. “I negotiated a package that’s . . . generous. To our clients, to the city.” He lifted a hand and rubbed his fingertips against each other as if rubbing two coins together. “And to us, of course. I believe Mr. McKinley—the actual Mr. McKinley—will be pleased.” Spencer cocked his head to the side. “Too bad you missed out on the negotiations. You might’ve learned something. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure Uncle Silas will come up with some more errands for you to run.”
Charles swallowed down a bitter reply. No need to burrow into the muck with the combative attorney. “Any chance the King family’s investments were included in this deal?” Even if he hadn’t taken part in the case, perhaps he could share the good news. A smile on Miss King’s face would be a welcome sight, indeed.
The man’s brows rose. “We’re talking big accounts here, McKinley, not everyone who lost a few cents in the blaze. Hotels, banks, factories, railroads—those are the players who bring in the money. No one cares about the beggars scraping by, barely able to make ends meet.”
A fire kindled in Charles’s belly. “I’d care to remind you, it’s those families on which this city is built.”
Spencer’s
