“You’re better at that than bookkeeping.”
“I have many skills.”
“You have one confirmed skill.”
Jeb smiled.
“Can I apply for another demonstration?”
“Tomorrow.”
He groaned.
Hattie laughed.
Then everything changed before dawn.
The ledger beneath Clem’s floorboard.
The letters.
The survey.
When Hattie entered Jeb’s office that morning, he was asleep in the chair.
Hat over his face.
She closed the door.
“Wake up.”
Jeb moved instantly.
Hand toward his gun.
Then saw her.
“Hattie?”
She tossed the ledger onto his desk.
Sleep disappeared.
“What is that?”
“Clem’s private bookkeeping.”
Jeb stared.
“Where did you get it?”
“Under his floor.”
He stood.
“You searched his quarters?”
“Yes.”
“Hattie.”
“Before you become moral, read page six.”
Jeb opened it.
His expression changed.
Page seven.
Eight.
Then the letter.
His face became stone.
“Barrows.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll kill them both.”
“No.”
Jeb looked at her.
She folded her arms.
“We discussed this.”
“They’re destroying my ranch.”
“And you want to help them by hanging?”
Jeb slammed one fist against the desk.
Hattie did not flinch.
Then she placed the map tube in front of him.
“I found something else.”
He opened it.
Unrolled the survey.
Jeb frowned.
“What is this?”
“Coal.”
He stared.
“There’s coal everywhere out here.”
“Not like this.”
She pointed.
“Read.”
He did.
Exceptional thickness.
Commercial extraction.
Land acquisition before disclosure.
Jeb looked at her.
“What does this mean?”
“It means Barrows might not want your river.”
Jeb looked back at the survey.
“He wants the ridge.”
“Likely.”
“But why?”
“Because whoever made this survey believed the deposit could be enormous.”
Jeb sat.
For once, no anger.
Only shock.
“My father never said anything.”
“Maybe he didn’t know.”
The survey was dated six years earlier.
After Jeb’s father died.
Jeb’s eyes narrowed.
“Who commissioned it?”
No company name.
Only initials.
N.B.
Nathaniel Barrows.
Hattie tapped another note.
“Look.”
The geological survey referenced exploratory cuts made under the guise of timber assessment.
Jeb remembered.
Barrows had once requested access to the northern ridge claiming he wanted to evaluate shared logging roads.
Clem had supervised.
Jeb’s stomach turned.
“Six years.”
Hattie nodded.
“He’s been planning this at least six years.”
Jeb stared at the wall.
“How long has Clem been with me?”
“Nine.”
The implication hit.
Maybe Clem had not begun as Barrows’s man.
Maybe he became one.
Either way, betrayal had roots.
Jeb looked at Hattie.
“What do we do?”