The morning's papers arrived before dawn.
By eight o'clock, every drawing room in Windsor hummed with the same words — Treasury interference, conflict of interest, ministerial impropriety.
And above them all, one name that turned the city's polished breakfast tables cold:
Christopher Cross.
The article was precise.
No accusations — only implications. No facts — only questions.
But it was enough. Enough to invite doubt. Enough to draw blood.
By midmorning, the Ministry's corridors were full of whispers — servants carrying tea with quieter steps, secretaries exchanging glances they thought he wouldn't notice.
And in the middle of it all, Christopher sat at his desk, reading the column again and again, as if the repetition would reveal a weakness in the words.
"Anonymous sources within Parliament," the line said. "Suggest the Minister of Justice used his position to shield financial dealings benefiting the Cross banking arm during the transition period after the war."
