Chapter 6
Roland Morrow denied everything.
Expected.
He entered my study the next morning with forty years of authority sitting comfortably in his shoulders.
“Boss.”
“Cassian Harrow.”
His face barely moved.
Good training.
“Ancient history.”
“Apparently not.”
I placed the burned wooden strip on the desk.
His eyes changed.
There.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You know it.”
“No.”
Weak.
Silas entered behind him.
Roland’s expression collapsed further.
Good.
“You should be dead by now.”
Silas smiled.
“Disappointing habit.”
I almost laughed.
Then I asked Roland:
“Did Cassian betray the dock route?”
“No answer.
“Did Peter Caine help you frame him?”
Silence.
“Did my father learn?”
Roland finally spoke.
“Your father knew what was necessary.”
There.
Not denial.
Justification.
Why frame Cassian?
Because Roland wanted his position.
Simple at first.
Cassian was younger.
More trusted by Alistair.
Likely next second-in-command.
Roland believed Ashcombe needed someone harder.
More disciplined.
Him.
So he arranged one stolen shipment and placed evidence.
Peter Caine helped because Cassian had blocked his promotion.
Small ambitions.
Huge consequences.
Then Cassian retaliated.
Factions formed.
People chose sides.
By the time Alistair discovered the framing, exposing Roland would shatter what remained.
So Father kept the lie.
“That was his decision,” Roland said.
“Yes.”
I looked at the third burned name.
Alistair Ashcombe.
“He knew.”
Roland nodded.
“And protected you.”
“I protected the family.”
No.
That sentence belonged to cowards who need institutions to absorb personal choices.
I removed Roland from every operational role that day.
He laughed.
“You’ll tear the old guard apart.”
“Then they were loyal to you.”
A pause.
May you like
“Not Ashcombe.”
His smile vanished.
