you?”
“No.”
There’s nothing hidden by her demeanor so I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth. “Do you know who did?”
Her shrug is less convincing than her no.
“Who do you—”
“Situations such as Mr. Walker’s happen all the time,” she says, refocusing our discussion. “Though not everyone kills themselves.”
I want to push her on the point of who left the newspaper, but I know it’d be a wasted effort so I say, “Then it wasn’t a heart attack.”
“I don’t know for sure,” she said. “I haven’t looked into this case, but what do you think?”
“Suicide. What I don’t understand is, why?”
“What do you think the institute really does?”
The words come automatically out of my mouth. “We trace family histories.”
“We uncover family histories,” she says. “The good and the bad. What the institute usually reports is only the good. The bad is kept for other things.”
“Johnston said something similar, that the bad just gets filed away.”
“That’s the company line, and Johnston is nothing if not a topflight company man,” she says, not hiding her disdain. “Let me tell you how things probably went with Walker. First, Lady Williams presented him with a clean but inaccurate family history. All smiles and thank-yous and respect. A few days later, Sir Wilfred pays Walker a follow-up visit, in which he presents the true facts, ones that could destroy the family’s social standing and spell disaster for its business. Several options will be laid out, the important part of each being a ‘sizable donation’ to the Upjohn Institute.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“So they told Walker to kill himself?”
“I’m sure that was one of the possibilities covered. In which case, those who inherit would be brought into the discussion. It doesn’t matter to the institute which direction is chosen. Its only concerns are the size of the donation and that the institute never comes under any scrutiny.”
“So when we receive payment, the bad goes away?”
She shrugs. “Until it’s needed again.”
“That’s…” I don’t know which word to use—terrible, disgusting, unbelievable. None fully conveys the revulsion I feel. “I can’t believe the institute would do something like that.”
“Oh, Denny,” she says. “You’ve spent nearly your whole life hovering just above the bottom of society. Surely you realized long ago that everything in the empire is corrupt.”
We’re taught from a very young age that to degrade the empire is to degrade the king, so saying the words out loud is treasonous. But she’s right. I’ve seen my share of corruption and learned early on to turn a blind eye to it. The difference here is that this is on a scale much grander than the daily graft I’ve been exposed to.
“You’re saying our job is to feed the corruption,” I whisper.
“Only if you always follow regulations.”
I look at her, apprehensive. “What are you talking about?”
“You and I have spent a lot of time together. I could tell early on you know the difference between right and wrong. We wouldn’t be having this discussion otherwise. All I’m saying is that sometimes it’s okay to ignore what you’ve been taught. Maybe you come across something you think the institute might use in ways you’re not comfortable with. You can choose not to report it. As you get a sense of those you’re tracing, you can decide how much or how little the institute learns.”
These words are treason on a slightly smaller, institute-related scale, and would certainly result in her being locked up in some deep, dark dungeon at Upjohn Hall.
She must be reading my mind, because she says, half smiling, “You’re free to turn me in if you want, but I would appreciate it if you don’t. At the very least, give me some warning.”
“Of course I won’t turn you in.” How can I when everything she says makes sense?
“All I’m really trying to tell you is that when
“No.”
There’s nothing hidden by her demeanor so I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth. “Do you know who did?”
Her shrug is less convincing than her no.
“Who do you—”
“Situations such as Mr. Walker’s happen all the time,” she says, refocusing our discussion. “Though not everyone kills themselves.”
I want to push her on the point of who left the newspaper, but I know it’d be a wasted effort so I say, “Then it wasn’t a heart attack.”
“I don’t know for sure,” she said. “I haven’t looked into this case, but what do you think?”
“Suicide. What I don’t understand is, why?”
“What do you think the institute really does?”
The words come automatically out of my mouth. “We trace family histories.”
“We uncover family histories,” she says. “The good and the bad. What the institute usually reports is only the good. The bad is kept for other things.”
“Johnston said something similar, that the bad just gets filed away.”
“That’s the company line, and Johnston is nothing if not a topflight company man,” she says, not hiding her disdain. “Let me tell you how things probably went with Walker. First, Lady Williams presented him with a clean but inaccurate family history. All smiles and thank-yous and respect. A few days later, Sir Wilfred pays Walker a follow-up visit, in which he presents the true facts, ones that could destroy the family’s social standing and spell disaster for its business. Several options will be laid out, the important part of each being a ‘sizable donation’ to the Upjohn Institute.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“So they told Walker to kill himself?”
“I’m sure that was one of the possibilities covered. In which case, those who inherit would be brought into the discussion. It doesn’t matter to the institute which direction is chosen. Its only concerns are the size of the donation and that the institute never comes under any scrutiny.”
“So when we receive payment, the bad goes away?”
She shrugs. “Until it’s needed again.”
“That’s…” I don’t know which word to use—terrible, disgusting, unbelievable. None fully conveys the revulsion I feel. “I can’t believe the institute would do something like that.”
“Oh, Denny,” she says. “You’ve spent nearly your whole life hovering just above the bottom of society. Surely you realized long ago that everything in the empire is corrupt.”
We’re taught from a very young age that to degrade the empire is to degrade the king, so saying the words out loud is treasonous. But she’s right. I’ve seen my share of corruption and learned early on to turn a blind eye to it. The difference here is that this is on a scale much grander than the daily graft I’ve been exposed to.
“You’re saying our job is to feed the corruption,” I whisper.
“Only if you always follow regulations.”
I look at her, apprehensive. “What are you talking about?”
“You and I have spent a lot of time together. I could tell early on you know the difference between right and wrong. We wouldn’t be having this discussion otherwise. All I’m saying is that sometimes it’s okay to ignore what you’ve been taught. Maybe you come across something you think the institute might use in ways you’re not comfortable with. You can choose not to report it. As you get a sense of those you’re tracing, you can decide how much or how little the institute learns.”
These words are treason on a slightly smaller, institute-related scale, and would certainly result in her being locked up in some deep, dark dungeon at Upjohn Hall.
She must be reading my mind, because she says, half smiling, “You’re free to turn me in if you want, but I would appreciate it if you don’t. At the very least, give me some warning.”
“Of course I won’t turn you in.” How can I when everything she says makes sense?
“All I’m really trying to tell you is that when
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