Ruth would carry one packet south.
A traveling preacher would unknowingly carry another sealed inside church correspondence.
Elias and Claire would carry the hidden ring strip and one key ledger page.
If one route failed, others remained.
Claire looked at him.
“You trust a preacher?”
“No.”
“You’re giving him papers anyway?”
“He thinks they’re donation records.”
Claire smiled.
“You’re terrible.”
“Effective.”
The plan nearly worked.
Two days later, Colson himself arrived.
Not a rider.
Not a foreman.
Colson.
He came in a polished black carriage with four men behind him.
Elias watched from the porch.
Claire stood inside.
Colson stepped down wearing a dark coat too clean for country roads.
He was in his fifties.
Silver at his temples.
Soft hands.
Hard eyes.
He walked to the porch.
“Boone.”
“Colson.”
“You have something of mine.”
Elias looked toward the pasture.
“No.”
Colson smiled.
“My employee’s widow.”
Elias’s expression hardened.
“She’s not property.”
“I meant records.”
“Then say records.”
Colson looked at him.
“You always were your father’s son.”
Elias went still.
“You knew him.”
“I knew everyone worth knowing.”
Elias stepped down from the porch.
“Did you forge his deed?”
Colson’s smile disappeared.
“Careful.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Your father borrowed badly.”
“He signed away land.”
Elias said:
“No.”
Colson stared.
“Dead men don’t testify.”
A voice came from the doorway.
“Documents do.”
Claire stepped outside.
Colson looked at her.
His expression changed in a way Elias hated.
Ownership.
Contempt.
Recognition.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
Claire’s chin lifted.
“Mr. Colson.”
“You’ve made this unnecessarily difficult.”
Claire moved beside Elias.
“You killed my husband.”
Colson sighed.
“Grief encourages imagination.”
“His saddle strap was cut.”
“Accidents happen.”
“He told me you threatened him.”
“Employees often resent discipline.”
Claire’s hand trembled.
Elias moved slightly closer.
Colson noticed.
Then looked at the gold ring still trapped on Elias’s finger.
He smiled faintly.
“There it is.”
Elias raised his hand.
“You know it.”
“I know who wore it before.”
Claire’s face changed.
Colson continued.
“Samuel Mercer.”
Elias said nothing.
Colson looked at Claire.
“Your husband never understood his father.”
Claire answered:
“His father helped you steal land.”
Colson laughed.
“His father built this territory.”
“Paperwork makes civilization.”