Alistair stared at his son.
For years, the Andersons believed their troubles were the unfortunate result of bad luck. They had blamed poor investments, a succession of failed ventures, the changing political climate, and the declining value of several properties.
They had blamed the war, the markets, the creditors, even the unpredictable nature of commerce.
And because every misfortune appeared to have its own explanation, no one had thought to search for a single hand behind them all.
There was one.
Lord Alistair Pembroke had been extraordinarily patient.
He had learned, long ago, that destroying a family did not require a public enemy. It required only patience.
A misplaced word here, a carefully timed recommendation there, and a friendship quietly withdrawn. A promising investment made to appear irresistible before collapsing at precisely the right moment.
