Autumn came early that year, carrying wind and a strange tension. Clara rode through the markets and saw what growth had hidden. Some workers quarreled over pay. A few managers sold cheap goods from outsiders, hoping to earn more. The Market Code hung on every wall, but not every heart followed it.

At the coastal branch she found missing records. The clerk there said he lost them in a storm. Clara didn’t argue. She took new books from her bag and showed him how to write each entry twice—once for the branch, once for the fund. She said, “A number must have a witness, just like a promise.”

Still, whispers reached her. Rivals said the chain had grown too big. The League returned with fresh lies, claiming she used unfair power to crush small traders. Some of her own clerks believed it. A few left to start their own shops. Clara felt the sting but refused anger. “If they carry honesty with them,” she said, “then they are still part of the idea.”

Yet the weight grew. At night she sat in her small office above the shop and listened to the wind push against the shutters. She thought of her first stall, how simple it had been—no branches, no ledgers, only a smile and a fair price. Now her world was larger, louder, and harder to hold.

Thomas came one evening with a list of broken wagons. “We need better wood,” he said. “Too much load for old wheels.” Clara nodded and touched the list. “Just like people,” she murmured. “We grow heavy, then we forget what carries us.”

She decided to call a gathering of every branch manager. By the next full moon they arrived—men and women from all corners of the region. The meeting took place in the wide yard of the first shop, under strings of lanterns. Clara stood on a crate and spoke plainly. “We began with soap and fairness. That hasn’t changed. But growth is testing us. I can’t lead alone. We will form a council—three from the branches, two from the workers, and one from the fund. Every major choice will pass through it.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Some looked uncertain, others relieved. Mary smiled, knowing what it cost Clara to share control. Thomas nodded and said, “The chain is stronger when each link pulls its part.”

The vote passed before midnight. They wrote the names on a wooden board and hung it beside the Market Code. The new council would guide decisions, inspect ledgers, and settle disputes. It was a new structure, simple yet solid.

When the meeting ended, Clara stood alone by the gate. The lanterns swayed in the wind. She felt both lighter and older. She whispered, “Now the market belongs to more than me.”

The next morning she watched the workers open the doors, the smell of bread and soap rising again. For all the noise of growth and fear of betrayal, the heart of Benton’s Market still beat the same rhythm—steady, human, and honest.

Before she left for her next visit, she wrote one more line in her book. When power spreads, trust must spread with it.

She placed the book in her saddlebag, mounted her horse, and rode toward the morning light.