“Twenty-six.”
Simon bit his lip. Most of the railways that had been built so far were short, stubby legs, connecting one city haphazardly to the next. The line he’d planned would have connected London with Castingham. It would, in one stroke, have united iron manufacturers and coal mines with the heart of commerce. There would have been no need to send everything by water. Just one simple intercity railway. He’d have made a profit almost overnight. All he had to do was lay the final miles of track.
But Ridgeway owned half of the meandering canal line that provided transport between the two cities. If Simon had succeeded, he would have diverted an enormous amount of business, and the man hadn’t been about to surrender without a fight. Ridgeway had tried to bribe him to give up the idea six months ago. When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to get Parliament to dissolve their corporation. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d resorted to brute force: outright purchase of the shares of their stock.
If he scraped together ownership in a majority of the company, Ridgeway wouldn’t just take the profits. He’d take control. And to protect the money he was already making, he’d shut the line down before it even began.
“Where does all of this leave us?” Fortas asked.
Simon reached out and flipped through a few of the pages. He found the accounting. He didn’t say a word, just inclined the page so that it could be easily read. “See this?” he said, “Everything else I have is mortgaged for this, and with the cloud over the railway line, I can’t get a cent more for it. You tell me where that leaves us.”
Fortas whistled slowly. “We’re standing in a storm of piss.”
“With shite for an umbrella,” Simon agreed.
Your vocabulary isn’t getting any better, he heard Ginny chide. Yes, he wanted to answer her, and neither are my finances.
Building a railway wasn’t cheap. He’d leveraged every asset that he had for this. In his desperate attempt to purchase shares before Ridgeway could, he’d even mortgaged his interest in the estate he would inherit from his parents, something he hoped they would never discover. It would have been worth it, too—if he’d succeeded. It all would have been worth it.
“Ah, well.” He tried to keep the despair from his voice. “There’s still hope, isn’t there? He doesn’t have those last twenty-six shares, and he can’t stop us without them.”
Fortas glanced away. “Hm,” he said, which was not promising at all.
“Damn it, Fortas. Tell me he doesn’t have them.”
“We have been in contact with the remaining shareholders,” Fortas said slowly. “We told them that if they sold to Ridgeway, the venture would be over—all progress would be completely halted—and they all agreed that they wouldn’t sell to him.”
“So they’re holding, then.”
“I thought so at first. Ridgeway made an offer, and was rebuffed.”
Maybe all was not lost.
“But it’s hard to convince men to hold when someone is trying to stop all operations. The shares will be worthless if Ridgeway succeeds. Nobody wants to be left holding nothing but liens.”
Simon blew out his breath. “Who sold?”
“Carter and Phillip. One hundred and thirteen shares in total.”
Simon shut his eyes. “Christ, that’s it. That gives him his majority. I’ll have their livers for going back on their word.”
“Technically, they’re within their promise. Ridgeway did not buy the shares himself. He sent a solicitor—one Mr. Bagswin—who claimed to be unconnected to Prince’s Canal.”
“Lying bastard.” Of course. If Ridgeway couldn’t buy the shares directly, he’d have set his solicitors to creating a fiction that could do so indirectly. Nothing for it now but to take another long swallow of beer. “And when will this Bagswin present the deeds to the company secretary?”
“Three days from now, on Thursday. Perhaps not by chance, the timing of that arrangement coincides with the timing of your meeting with Ridgeway.”
Simon tapped his fingers on the table. It was precisely as he’d feared. He was about to lose everything that he’d worked for. He’d built his success up piece by piece, starting with his first foray into railways—a small line connecting a coal mine in Wales to the coast. Over the years, he’d become more aggressive. This last project, though… In order to make it happen, he’d borrowed against all his assets, and then he’d borrowed against the assets he’d purchased.
“Ah,” he said. “Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Et cetera. Insert whatever other platitudes you can recall; I can’t be bothered. The payroll is safe, at least. Please assure the men of that.”
Fortas gave him a reproving look. “With all that about to fall on your head, you’re really going to spend the next handful of days here, in—in—Chester-on-Bloody-Who-Cares?”
“With all that,” Simon said quietly, “this is my only window of opportunity. Once this becomes public...”