The message arrived three days after the visit to the ransacked room, delivered by a runner boy who didn't know enough to be nervous about what he was carrying. Mercer read it twice before setting it down on his desk, feeling the weight of it settle into his chest.
Hollis Trading had underbid him on the eastern grain contract, the same contract Mercer had spent two months negotiating with three separate farming collectives outside the city walls. The bid they'd offered wasn't just lower. It was low enough to make no sense, low enough that Hollis Trading would lose money on the deal unless their only goal was making sure Mercer lost it instead.
"They're not trying to win the contract," Keston said, when Mercer brought him the numbers later that afternoon. "They're trying to bleed you dry
