23. The Storm
Chapter twenty-three
The Storm
Everett stood before Parliament, his father’s letters heavy in his coat pocket like stones. Faces in the gallery blurred together. MPs, journalists, medical board members all waiting to see the Royal Physician’s son commit what many would view as patricide.
Lord Salisbury had arranged this hearing swiftly and masterfully.
Each newspaper's exposé had built upon the last, creating a wave of public outrage that even the most resistant politicians couldn't ignore.
Now, with London demanding answers about the state of its water supply, Everett would deliver the final blow.
He began with the workers' testimonies. His voice remained steady as he detailed the pattern of faulty installations, the deliberate use of inferior materials, the threats against those who spoke out. But it was his father's financial records that drew shocked murmurs from the gallery.
"These documents"—he held up a thick ledger—"show systematic falsification of mortality records. Payments to physicians for altered death certificates. Either my father or Mr Snowden's signatures appear on every transaction."
A rustle went through the chamber. In the front row, Dr Moreland's face had gone grey.
"Furthermore," Everett continued, withdrawing more papers, "their private correspondence reveals they knowingly installed faulty pipes in populous districts while charging full prices for superior materials."
He laid out the paper trail methodically: memos, bank records, letters proving their fraud. Each document added another nail to London Water Works' demise.
"My final evidence concerns attempts to silence those investigating these irregularities.
" Everett's voice hardened. "Including my wife, Miss Emma Brown at the time, whose careful documentation of mortality rates in affected districts raised questions about the company's practices.
Her records, combined with workers' testimonies and financial documents, reveal a pattern of negligence and fraud that cannot be ignored. "
From the gallery, he caught Emma's eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of her. She sat between Helen and Michael, her face pale but composed. She placed a hand on her heart, the first acknowledgment of understanding between them since that night in Rochester.
"I submit all of this evidence to Parliament's consideration," Everett concluded formally. "And I call for immediate action to protect London's citizens from these unconscionable business practices."
The gallery erupted into chaos as Everett finished his testimony. His father’s face had gone from grey to mottled red while Snowden appeared to be having trouble breathing. Members of Parliament were shouting questions, reporters scribbling frantically, and through it all, Emma sat perfectly still.
“Order! Order in the chamber!” Lord Salisbury’s voice cut through the din.
Dr Moreland surged to his feet. “My son speaks from fever-addled delusions! These so-called documents are forgeries, created by a woman who has poisoned his mind against his own blood!”
“The documents have been authenticated,” Arthur responded calmly. “By multiple experts, including the London Bank.”
“This is absurd!” Snowden wheezed. “You cannot possibly believe—”
“I believe the evidence speaks for itself,” Arthur continued.
“You dare speak of evidence?” Dr Moreland’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “When your own sister-in-law practices medicine without a licence? When she steals confidential records and performs unauthorised surgeries?”
Everett watched as Emma placed a hand on Michael’s arm. He pushed aside the feeling of possessiveness. There was no room for such sentiment when their worlds were falling apart. Yes, he believed she loved him, even in her anger and doubt.
“That is for the Royal College of Physicians to decide. However, note that Dr Everett Moreland has submitted records showing Mrs Moreland had worked under his supervision, making her practice entirely legitimate.”
Everett watched with satisfaction as Emma lifted her hand from Michael’s arm to cover her mouth.
Dr Moreland scoffed. “And there it is! The great Marquess of Salisbury, protecting his pet project. Tell me, how many palms did you grease to get those documents approved?”
A rustle went through the gallery. Arthur’s face hardened. “I would be careful with such accusations, Dr Moreland. Unlike some, I keep meticulous records of all transactions.”
“This is all her fault!” Dr Moreland pointed a finger at Emma. “That common nurse who dared above her station! Who turned my only son against me! Who—”
“Who saved hundreds while you killed thousands.” Everett’s clear voice cut through his tirade.
“You foolish—”
“Father.” The quiet word silenced the chamber. “The evidence is clear. Accept it with what dignity remains to you.”
“I did it for you!” His father’s composure finally shattered. “Everything. And this is how you repay me? By choosing that woman over your own blood?”
“I chose healing over harm,” Everett corrected. “I chose love over fear.” His eyes met Emma’s across the chamber. “And I would choose it again.”
The quiet conviction in his voice seemed to deflate Dr Moreland. He sank back into his chair, suddenly looking old and beaten. “You fool,” he murmured. “You’ve destroyed us both.”
“No, Father.” Everett’s voice was gentle now. “I’ve freed us both. The truth was always going to come out. At least this way, we face it on our terms.”
The gallery had fallen silent, watching this final confrontation between father and son. Emma dabbed at her eyes, and Everett felt a lump form in his throat. A wave of sorrow threatened to wash over him, so he sat up straighter, hardening his resolve.
“The chamber will recess,” Lord Salisbury announced into the heavy silence. “The evidence will be reviewed and charges formally prepared. Dr Moreland, Mr Snowden, you will remain in custody of Parliament’s officers.”
As guards moved to escort the accused men out, Dr Moreland addressed Emma. “I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve won. Though I wonder if you understand the price of victory.”
“The price of silence was higher,” she replied, meeting his eyes steadily. “Your son understood that.”
Something flickered in the old man’s expression; respect, perhaps, or simply resignation. Then he allowed himself to be led away. Everett couldn’t look at his wife as he followed his father out of the chamber in fear he may never regain his composure.
I wonder if you understand the price of victory.
He did now.