"I will," I say.
After dinner, I finally sit with a pad of paper and write the list of things I need to do so I don’t forget. Call the clerk at nine. Meet the lawyer at eleven. Confirm with Walton at noon. Hardware at three. Lights. Screws. Two more locks. A camera at Kassi's front door. A second for the parking lot. Cade and Ben are on call. Loop my brothers in on the cameras. Mom told nothing until the papers are signed, because not telling her is a kindness right now. Besides, telling her would invite the whole town to carry a load it does not yet need to shoulder.
I can feel how fast everything will move tomorrow. How a plan tightens when time starts to shrink.
Chapter 25
Kassi
Itell myself it will be quick. In and out. Just grab the envelope with my final paycheck, sign whatever HR needs, and leave before anyone can look me in the eye long enough to make me feel small again.
But the second I pull into the lot, my hands go slick on the steering wheel. I cut the engine and sit for a full minute before I can force myself to move.
The glass doors give like they always do, cold air rushing out to meet me. The receptionist at the front desk looks up from her screen with a practiced smile that falters when she recognizes me. "Kassi. They said you'd be stopping by."
"Just picking up my check," I say.
She nods and opens a drawer. "HR's tied up in a meeting, but they left this for you." She slides a sealed envelope across the counter. My name sits neatly in block letters, too precise to be human. "Let me go see if HR is out of their meeting."
I could leave right now. I should. But I watch her head down the hall as a voice carries—familiar, low, sharp. My former boss. I freeze without meaning to.
The door to the conference room is cracked an inch. A sliver of fluorescent light spills across the carpet.
"You said the permits would clear by now," one voice says, clipped and annoyed.
"They don't need to clear," another replies. "The county's months behind. We drill the tests, get the data, and by the time they figure it out, we'll have leverage. The contracts are already set. We just need the numbers."
My heart starts to pound so hard it makes the floor seem to tilt.
The first voice again—my boss. "And Silver Cattle? We're still waiting on a way in?"
"They'll cave," the other man says. "The rancher's sitting on a goldmine. He doesn't even know it yet. We get the core samples we need from the neighboring plots and offer him a fraction of what it's worth. If he resists, we'll route through the mineral rights line. His hands will be tied."
Something slams down on the table. "You're sure about the ownership split?"
"Positive. We already have a legal path. We just need the testing data."
I grip the strap of my purse so tight the leather creaks.
They're talking about Asher.
Silver Cattle Ranch. The mineral rights. The "neighboring plots."
And they're not waiting for permits—they're drilling now. Illegally.
A chair scrapes. "If anyone asks questions?"
"We'll deny until it's too late to matter. That's the beauty of rural operations. By the time anyone gets loud, the lawyers will have the papers ready."
I can't breathe.
Every instinct in me says move. Run. But my body stays locked in place long enough for the sound of footsteps to hit the hallway.
I duck into the copy room. My pulse pounds so loudly I'm sure they'll hear it.
A shadow passes the doorway, then fades. I wait a full thirty seconds before moving again.
On the table by the copier, a stack of printouts catches my eye. Maps. Coordinates. Geological overlays. Each one is marked with a date and a label. McCafferty. Delaney. Silver Cattle—outlined in red.