Constable Harvey knocks on the sallow door ahead and looks at me from over his shoulder. His mouth opens, but then the occupier of the room says enter.

Faking a smile, I gesture to the door ahead.

Sighing, Harvey opens it.
Head Constable Granville scans the mountains of papers in front of him, his glasses on his nose bridge.
He lifts his head, pushing his glasses back.
“Matthew, what a pleasant surprise!” He stands up, walking over to me while also saying to Harvey,
“Tell the peon to bring two cups of tea for me and my nephew.”

Like his usual impassion, Harvey exits the room with a cardboard nod.
And like his usual gregariousness, Uncle Arnold-- Mother’s paternal cousin-- winks

“Or should I call you Detective William Sterling?” He winks.

“I’m a professional doctor Uncle Arnold, not a detective.” I wave a hand at him.

Uncle Arnold laughs.
“Nonsense! Your experience and solved case rate is more than half of the professional detectives we have here.”

Mother and Edmund know I’ve been helping the police department with cases.
It all started when I anonymously helped with a case related to my own hospital during the first year of medical school.
Later that anonymity took an alias. That alias was William Sterling.

Before releasing me, Uncle Arnold slams a hand against my back, almost hurling me forward.

I stabilise myself, pulling my coat at the opening.
“But Uncle--”

“Nonsense!”
Uncle shakes his head.
“Now tell me why you are here. I thought you wanted a break after the Roma case.”
He walks to his desk, sitting behind it.

“It was quite an unsettling case, Uncle.”
I pull back my chair, running a hand through my hair.

“I will not deny that.” Uncle's gave travels over to a portrait of the late Oscar Hastings, his previous second in charge,
“Just like Hastings's case five years ago…”

And of course that's why the Metropolitan police closed the case when his daughters were pressured to request it.

I resist an eye roll.

Uncle shakes his head, smiling at me.
“Now, your matter? It must be of import since you requested Jasper to not be here, in your message.”

Jasper Harvey follows rules too much for my liking.
Which won't benefit me at all right now.

"I did not want to bother him with something related to my person." I smile, even though Uncle already knows how much Harvey and I get along.

The door clicks open.
A peon walks in with a tray of tea.
I glance at Oscar Hastings's portrait-- remembering another detective I once knew five years ago-- while Uncle checks his papers again. Both of us are distracted when the peon asks about the sugar.

The peon doesn't pay heed and exits wordlessly after doing his work.
Uncle Arnold's whisking teaspoon echoes in the office.

Mine remains silent in its stirring.
“It’s about Isaac Crimley.” My gaze remains on the ripples in the liquid.

Uncle Arnold stops stirring.
“I never assigned you such a case.”

“But you did mention him on Isabelle's birthday.” I take a sip from the porcelain cup, its taste lost to me.

“Mentioning and assigning are two very different matters, Matthew.”
A shade of grey-- instead of white-- coats his tone.
“I did not peg you as someone who would meddle with people like Crimley.”

“Times change,” I say.

Uncle sighs.
“I do know Matthew, and I also know how much your family is anti-drug for all walks of life. Your father was one of the leading supporters of the  Pharmacy and Poisons Act.” My brows furrow.
“I can not arrest him for legal trade, even if I am tired of people complaining about him, but never finding any evidence against Crimley.”

That's because the Metropolitan police is slovenly with gentlemanly high officers used to silver platters more than actual work.

“What if I told you I found proof of unfair trade and supposedly unidentified lands owned by Crimley, ultimately resulting in inaccurate accounts and tax evasion?” I raise a brow, leaning back into my seat.

"I will need information about available lands and accounts with no claim whatsoever, but still have a nebulous history of their ownership."

"It will take some time, but it will be done," Edmund says, pausing a bit.
"Is this for Crimley?"

I nod.

This time, Uncle furrows his brow.
“How would you--”

His question is silenced by my pulling out a few pieces of parchment out of my coat, all tied together by a single string.

Crossing my legs, I slide it towards him on the table.

Uncle pulls his teacup to the side, mouth open slightly as he unbounds the string.
He reads the papers, brows going further and further into his forehead.
“This, this is…”

I lean back in my seat, arms folded.
“All the evidence you will need for an arrest warrant,” I complete for him, taking my own teacup to my mouth.

Uncle leans back in his seat, blinking.“But how did you…” He picks up a page. “His exact handwriting and signature… All here…”

I hide the grin of satisfaction settling on my face. Do you remember why you started this, starting doing all of this? The satisfaction you got from hiding? My grin drops momentarily.
“You needed proof and there you have it.” Elbows on the arm rest, my finger tips touch each other.

“I gave you the proof you need of his other accounts.
Why would you need Crimley's handwriting? What will happen if the rest find out I'm the rat!” Dawson flails his arms.

I'll still have to be creative if I want Crimley out of the picture.

I shake my head and ignore the first part of his question.
“You needn't worry about that.
By the time Crimley is done with, your son will be healthy enough to travel. You and your family will then be shipped off to Australia to start anew, away from anyone that may cause you harm.”
Dawson's mouth parts, but he doesn't object to the plan.

I did have to call in a favour from an old friend from Harrow.
At least I won't have to worry about my own rat.

Uncle nods slowly, his old smile returning.
“You really should have chosen criminology if you wanted to rebel against your family.”

“I can decide for myself what I want to do.” I place my cup back into the tray, glancing at the wall clock. Do you remember?
“If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the hospital.”

Uncle Arnold shakes his head, standing up with me.
“Of course, let me show you out.”

I oblige, exchanging pleasantries with him as we make our way to the station's entrance.
Uncle's juniors nod and bow before us as we pass them.
A single gargoyle stands on top of the police station, surveying everything with writhing eyes. Its gaze pierces the air weighing down on me.

Do you?
Of course, I fucking do. I do remember why I made a whole new identity, a whole new me, a whole new bank account for myself. I was tired, so tired of Father threatening to withhold my own bank account from me even though I earned myself. I was tired of him knowing every cent and penny I took out from it. I was tired of him. I still am.

“I'll leave you here then, lad.”
Uncle pats my shoulder when we reach the gates, a little into the streets.

Shaken out of my reverie, I take a step ahead. Uncle's voice stops me.
“I noticed it for the first time, Matthew… but you walk your father’s shadow… Even though, you look like Estelle and Matthias.”

The gates slightly creak with the wind, a grizzling murmur echoing.

Uncle seems to be lost in some other memory as his hands still and eyes glaze over.

But then something-- or someone-- passes before my sight. Someone in a beige cloak staring at my direction. Someone taller and leaner than the person following me in the East End.
That East End follower didn't appear in these-- the central-- parts of the city.

When I turn to the person with the beige cloak, they disappear around a corner.

“Goodbye, nephew.” Uncle turns on his heels, heading back to the station in a grey mist.

I only nod.

The world goes into a monochrome fog, everything blurred except for my silent thoughts.

Checkmate, Crimley.

A small piece of parchment descending down brings me back to this world. One that is burnt at the sides.
A raven caws in the distance
Grunting, I bend down to pick it up.

“Lucifer fell from grace.
Icarus flew too close to the sun.
What will pride do to you?”

I almost throw it away to be eaten by the streets.
But then catch it at the last moment.
I shake my head, heading towards the hospital.

They faced the consequences of conceit, not pride.

Surprise surprise! Y'all know Matt's "side business" now XD
I swear it was so hard hinting at this bit of info with first person.
But I'm glad I did it.
Plus, y'all got to see some of Matt's... strong opinions.

Also, putting a link for  the 1868 Pharmacy and Poisons Act mentioned here ➡️

I don't think I've said so in my ANs before, but all my urban fantasy stories take place in the same universe.
The reference to Oscar Hastings and his daughters is from a future book of mine.

War of the Roses was mentioned in the previous chapter and I found everyone's answers to which rose Matt and Tilda were to be pretty interesting.
The roses they represent will be hinted at in the next chapter. Keep an eye out for that ;D

Speaking of earlier chapters, C13 "Cold Fire" has gone through a rewrite.
It includes a new scene in which Matt & Arnold talk about Crimley. You may want to check that bit out ;D

P. S. CONGRATULATIONS TO EVERYONE WHO MADE IT TO THE WATTYS SHORT LIST. ALL OF YOUR STORIES ARE JUST BLOODY FANTASTIC AND AMAZING ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

P. P. S.
I quoted The Devil Within's lyrics( I will keep quiet/You won't even know I'm here//You won't suspect a thing/You won't see me in the mirror) a few chapters back and asked which character do you think they fit.
Answer: It was Matthew all along.

Have a great week!
Love,
MS Zame

P. P. P. S(sorry!)

Did y'all suspect this William Sterling thing?
Just curious lol