Chapter 10
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Rachel had not meant to reveal how much she remembered.
During twenty-one years of marriage, Daniel had used Rachel as a second brain when it helped him.
She had reviewed presentations.
Built cash-flow models.
Caught contract errors.
Remembered numbers.
Then, when Bennett Ridge grew large enough, Daniel began telling people Rachel “handled home life.”
She had never forgotten the numbers.
“Who have you been talking to?” Daniel asked.
“I inherited a cabin, Daniel. Not amnesia.”
His voice hardened.
“Do not start interfering with Mountain Crest.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The thing you’re actually worried about.”
“I’m worried about both of us.”
“No. You’re worried about Mountain Crest.”
“You don’t understand the structure.”
“Then explain it.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I used to reconcile your development draws at two in the morning while you slept.”
“That was years ago.”
“Yes.”
“You’re emotional.”
Rachel looked at the darkening mountains.
“Am I?”
Daniel stopped.
She almost heard him realizing the mistake.
“Poor choice of words.”
“Very.”
He changed tactics.
“Rachel, whatever Avery told you, that land is not some lottery ticket.”
“I never said it was.”
“Good.”
“You did.”
“What?”
“You called because you think I believe it’s valuable.”
“No, I called because—”
“Leave tonight,” Rachel repeated.
Daniel said nothing.
“Those were your words.”
“I’m concerned about the structure.”
“The cabin survived seventy-eight years.”
“Rachel.”
“You weren’t concerned yesterday.”
“Things are unstable up there.”
“What things?”
Silence.
Rachel straightened.
“Daniel.”
“Just leave the property tonight.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain everything over the phone.”
“Then drive up.”
Another pause.
“I’m busy.”
“With Madison?”
The silence changed.
Small victory.
Not important.
Rachel did not need jealousy.
She needed information.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“I will give you two hundred fifty thousand dollars for Black Laurel.”
Rachel’s heartbeat remained steady.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Yesterday it was thirty.”
“I’m trying to be fair.”
“Six hundred.”
“What?”
“You offered Evelyn six hundred. Match it.”
“That offer expired.”
“Then so did mine.”
“You never made an offer.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel ended the call.
She returned to the cabin before sunset.
Then she did three things.
She moved the Subaru behind the barn where it could not be seen easily from the road.
She set two battery-powered trail cameras she found unopened in Evelyn’s pantry facing the driveway and back entrance.
And she wedged a chair beneath the front doorknob.
At 9:13 p.m., headlights crawled through the trees.
Rachel was sitting in darkness beside the upstairs window.
She watched a vehicle stop approximately a hundred yards from the cabin.
Lights went out.
No one approached.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Then the lights came back on.
The vehicle reversed down the road.
Rachel wrote down the time.
She did not sleep much.
At dawn, she checked the trail cameras.
Nothing.
The vehicle had never entered the clearing.
At 7:30, Rachel drove to the nearest diner.
She ordered coffee, eggs, and biscuits.
Halfway through breakfast, an elderly man in a canvas jacket stopped beside her booth.
“You Susan’s girl?”
Rachel looked up.
He had a deeply lined face, white beard, and blue eyes.
“Rachel.”
“Walt Mercer.”
Evelyn’s neighbor.
Thomas had mentioned him.
Rachel stood.
May you like
Walt shook her hand.
“You look like her.”
