The mahogany expanse of the desk felt smooth against my palms. My father used to call me his good-for-nothing son. For a long while, I'd believed him—until I met Celeste, and my luck had changed. I didn't like to think of those days, so I pushed aside the maudlin whispers and looked ahead at the man who would decide my fate.

"Why are you here?" he asked me. When I'd entered his study, shoving through the door with no invitation, Maximilian Navarie had slowly glanced up from the papers he had been reading. As he took off his wiry glasses and placed them in his case, his eyes widened slightly, though he made no move to call the guards to evict the red-haired stranger from the Shallows who'd snuck from the outside into the palace. He never said my name, but I guessed he already knew it. He didn't seem like someone to let much escape his attention.

Why was I here? I asked myself. I still didn't have a definite answer. Most wouldn't dare cross Maximilian Navarie's path without a fully outlined plan, but I'd always operated best under extreme pressure. I was a gambler at heart. Celeste and I both were.

Her father was nothing like her. He had an aura of precision about him that she lacked. I saw it in the way he deftly straightened the creases of his shirt cuffs to how he now raised his brow ever so slightly as he waited for me to speak. I felt his impatience, and I fought to quench the uneasiness that rumbled in my stomach. This is a sale, Jack. A pitch, I reminded myself. I'd been a smuggler for a long time and a scammer for even longer. I blanked my face and straightened in my chair, allowing only two emotions to show through: charm and confidence. They were what had kept me alive this long and would ensure my crooked existence for many more years to come.

Looking Navarie dead in the eye, I said, "The journal that you're expecting is a forgery."

Mild interest crossed his face as he steepled his fingers. "Oh?"

I pulled the long key out from my front pocket. "And this," I said, setting the key on the desk, "was supposed to be delivered with it."

"What happened to my journal?"

I remembered how the journal looked as it glinted in the crate when it had just arrived. It was red and shiny, and I was immediately entranced. Celeste would love it. I knew that with a certainty. I'd planned on selling it to her for just 2000 citz. It was an impulse on my part to raise it to 5000, but then, before I knew it, I upped the offer to 10,000. I'd surprised myself by my gall. I was even more surprised that she took the bait and agreed to the amount—until I noticed that she'd switched the journal for a measly 2000 citz. I was scared then. I'd lost the journal, and the rest of my money.

I took a gamble a week later on the twenty-fifth, not definitively knowing whether Celeste would show up or not. But she did, and with her, she brought the rest of my money. I had 10,000 citz in my pocket, and we both left satisfied. But like everything else in my life, it all went to hell. How was I to know that the journal was something special, that Cookie would hound all the workers trying to retrieve it?

"I don't know where the journal is," I lied to him. "All I know is that it's a fake." Pulling a crisp paper out from my pocket, I unfolded it and handed it to him. "This was supposed to be an excerpt torn out from the original copy."

He didn't bend to survey it. His eyes never left my face.

"The official report Cookie sent you stated that the journal was locked, but what it didn't say was that the pages of the journal are physically glued together. It's like a solid block," I said, remembering my shock when Celeste had showed me the truth. "There is no possible way for the excerpt to have come from the journal."

Navarie said nothing as I retrieved two more documents from my satchel. "This is a copy of the report Cookie sent to you when the journal arrived." I recognized her looping handwriting as I read her notes out loud. "The journal is small, 7 by 5 inches. Locked, but the key is intact. An excerpt is included. The words are computer type. The language seems dated."

Navarie raised his other eyebrow. "I know what the report says."

Ducking my head, I said, "Of course." I slid the second document forward. "Now, this is the report Cookie never sent you." I watched as he bent to devour Cookie's self-incriminating words. "She notes that the pages of the journal can't be moved in any way or manipulated. She confirms what I've already told you." I was amazed at her lack of foresight. The documents had been lying in the locked drawer in her office that I'd easily picked. Sneaking out had been much trickier, but I'd found a way.

To Navarie, I summarized, "The journal is fake. The excerpt is not real. Cookie had lied."

The papers I'd given him crumpled in his tight grip as he absorbed my words. I allowed myself to revel in my victory. My voice was faster and smoother as I said, "She had every intention of taking your money and giving you a false copy of the journal. With Roscoe dead, she could've easily claimed that the mix-up occurred during Roscoe's reign, and that she had no part in the deception." I tapped my finger against the desk as I emphasized my words.

"I don't think that's what happened. I'm betting that Cookie commissioned a forgery of the journal to be made in secret. And she added the excerpt for authenticity. This sale to you would've cemented her power and ended the loyalty that people still feel towards Roscoe." It was a smart play with a very high risk. If I'd had the chance, I might've tried playing it, too. It was unlike Cookie. She was usually too calculated to make mistakes. She must've been desperate.

I shook my head, shaking away all thoughts of anything but the sale, the pitch, and the excitement that coursed through my blood as Navarie stroked his jaw because I knew at that moment I had won. I smothered a smile, my father's smile, one of the many features I shared with him, wondering what he'd have to say about me now.

Navarie laughed then. A cold chuckle that triggered the chills I haven't felt since I'd left home. "Thank you for your loyalty to your Citizen Principia." He smoothed the creases from the papers. "I'll have to corroborate your tale, of course." I leaned back into my chair, relaxing in his presence for the first time.

"And if you're lying, Jack, you'll regret the day you stepped foot into my study."

Rising to my feet, I dropped into the standard bow. This time, I couldn't stop the smile from crossing my face. "You won't be sorry, Citizen Principia. I promise you that."