A week. That was all it took for me to remember precisely why I was always looking to get out from under the clutches of my father's business. I'd spent days going through his ledgers, his account books, and determining which stream of revenue was legitimate and which was not. He had some legal contracts with wealthy gentlemen or merchants here and there. He had provided them a good or service and they had promised some sum in return. When he had gone to prison, his patrons had assumed their debts were null and void. I would have to remind them that they were not. I would have to go and demand payment and, if they declined, take them to court. The right way. The proper way. I would find myself a lawyer and sue my father's clients for what my family, for what I, was owed. Rather than breaking their fingers ot threatening their children, I would let the legal system do its job and hope it worked as well for me as it did against my family.

So I set out with a list of debts and called on them each, one at a time. Jack and Philip were by my side for most of it. When they tired, Roy and Ervin took their place. But still, I pressed on, walking from one establishment to the next. They all gave me the same excuses. They hadn't realized the debt was still due, they would need some time to get the money together, they needed to ask their lawyer about the legality of my collecting debts owed to my father. I nodded politely, gave them their time, and promised to return at a later, set date which I recorded in my notes on my way to the next debtor, the next establishment.

By a week in, I was exhausted, I was weary, and I tired of being told to wait, of being dismissed without payment. So, as I sat across from Douglas Fowler, a wealthy man who had borrowed even more money from my father to fund his exorbitant art buying addiction, I began to lose what little patience I had left.

"So you see, Mr. Keene, I fail to see why it is that I owe you the money I borrowed from your father," Douglas was saying, leaning forward over his desk, his hands splayed upon the chestnut table between us, palms flat. I just watched him, bored. I'd heard this excuse from the lips of a dozen other men just as rich as he and I was growing quite tired of it.

So I reached out and, in one quick move, grabbed his penknife from the top of his desk and stabbed it through the top of his hand. He howled in agony, reaching for his injured hand with the other and attempting to wrench it from the wood as blood flowed from the wound, staining the papers below.

"Take the Millais," I said calmly from my seat.

Jack and Philip moved to the painting hanging on the wall behind Douglas' desk as the main gaped at me, wide eyed and horrified. I leaned forward, baring my teeth.

"I will hold onto this painting until such time that you are able to gather the funds to repay me," I informed him. "Call it collateral. If you are unable to give me what I am owed within the month, this painting will adorn my office, not yours."

Then I stood, turned on my heel, and stormed from Douglas Fowler's home and onto the street below. Jack and Philip followed, loading the waiting carriage with the painting and sending it onward back towards the estate with the rest of what little of value we had managed to collect during our day of calling upon debtors. I muttered a curse and the men turned to face me.

"Boss," Jack started, carefully.

"I lost my temper," I said as if that excused what I had done.

"He refused payment," Philip said, trying to justify my actions as well. "They all have."

"It's no reason to stab him," I snapped and then sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose and taking a moment to collect myself. When the fury subsided, I spoke again. "That isn't how I want to run things. I'm trying to legitimize our business here. We will not collect what we are owed by use of violence or threats of harm. Not anymore. We are a legal, law-abiding business. Do you understand?"

They exchanged a look but nodded their agreement. I nodded back, grateful that they brooked no further argument. It was the main reason why I had chosen them as my right hand men. They had families, wives at home, something to lose. I knew that they, more than anyone, would be willing to go straight, desperate for it even. So when I lost control and stabbed Mr. Fowler's hand, I hadn't just disappointed myself but them as well.

"It's bred into me," I told them, lowering my voice as I walked past them and down the street beyond. They followed at my side, the three of us equals, in conversation. "But I will fight it. I will do better. And we will be very, legally, rich men."

They grinned at one another and at me as we turned a corner and entered into the wealthy district. They did not go their separate ways this time. My father's attorney had recently granted me access to his accounts and all of the money within. I'd used some of it on the renovation of the house and some to pay my men. They'd used it to get themselves a proper trim and finer clothes so that they wouldn't be so out of place when visiting my home, so that they could come and go from my neighborhood as they please without the silent judgment of the wealthy around them. So now they followed me all the way up to my door and into my home.

A servant approached the moment I entered the home, clutching a letter in her hand as she did.

"Mr. Keene," she started.

"What have I told you to call me, Bonnie?" I interrupted and her cheeks flushed pink as she lowered her gaze and the men behind me chortled.

"Camden, sir," she corrected herself and I nodded. Mr. Keene reminded me too much of my father and there was enough around me at all hours of the day to remind me of the man who raised me to be evil, the influence I was trying, and failing, to fight against.

"What is it, Bonnie?"

"A letter has come from your sister. It's addressed to you from the jail and–"

"Throw it away."

"Mr– Camden, sir?"

"Throw it away, Bonnie. I don't want to read it. And throw any future correspondence from my sister away as well."

"I see. Should I do the same with the note from your father?"

I froze. I'd been walking past her and further into the foyer but hesitated at her question. I pivoted, meeting her gaze with my own until she lowered it subserviently.

"A letter from my father," I repeated, unsure if I'd heard her correctly.

"Yes, sir."

I reached out a hand and she placed the letter within. I glanced at the front to see she was right. An envelope to me addressed from the jail in the name of George Keene. Already opening it, I turned and made my way down the hall, calling out to Jack and Philip as I did.

"Take the rest of the evening off, gents," I said and then disappeared down the hall before I could see if they'd listened.

I pulled the letter from the sleeve and allowed my eyes to scan its contents.

Camden,

My son. They tell me you're back. Specifically, my attorney tells me you've seized access to the house and to my accounts. I'm glad to see you're finally home, finally settling into your destiny. There is much to do and we have a lot to discuss. Come and see me.

George

I blew out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and glanced up to find that I had subconsciously made my way to my father's old office. It looked the exact same as it ever had, just as polished and daunting as ever. My stomach churned at the memories of all the horrible things that had been done in here, that I had witnessed in here, that I had taken part of in here. I hesitated on the threshold, my hands shaking as they gripped the letter he'd sent me. I couldn't take a step. Even now, after all this time, I couldn't enter my father's office without being invited in as was always his rule. But he would never invite me in again. This office was mine. This house was mine. But I couldn't manage to set foot inside. I was a coward.

I backed away, balling up the letter and muttering a string of curses, as I headed for the stairs and up to my room.

I took a chance on you, Camden Keene. Charlotte's words ring out in my head as they have since the moment she uttered them, throughout all the months I spent alone in Australia, continents and oceans away. Still, I heard them as clearly as if she were in this very room, speaking them to me now. I believed you when you told me you wanted to be different. I've given you the chance. Don't prove me wrong.

I had proved her wrong. Again and again. No matter how hard I tried to be the better man, the man she saw me as, I failed. Every time. And something about that shattered my heart even more than she did the day she left me.

I took a chance on you, Camden Keene.

The only words she'd ever said to me that I knew were not a lie. And yet, what good had it done?