That question mattered.
Weeks earlier, he would never have asked a cook.
Now he trusted her judgment more than his anger.
Hattie answered:
“We do not tell Clem we found this.”
“He knows you were in his room.”
“He doesn’t know what I found.”
“He’ll check.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“We give him something else to find.”
Jeb smiled slowly.
“Hattie.”
“What?”
“That expression scares me.”
“It should.”
They returned the floorboard that afternoon.
But not before copying the useful entries.
Hattie replaced the map tube with rolled blank papers of similar weight.
The original survey went into Jeb’s safe.
The ledger remained hidden elsewhere.
Then they waited.
Clem said nothing.
For one day.
Then two.
On the third, he requested permission to ride to Oak Haven for supplies.
Jeb approved.
Hattie watched him leave.
“Barrows.”
Jeb nodded.
“Probably.”
They sent Wyatt by a separate trail.
Not to confront.
Observe.
Wyatt returned after dark.
“He went straight to Barrows’s office.”
Jeb’s eyes hardened.
“How long?”
“Hour.”
“Then?”
“Freight yard.”
“Talked to two men.”
Hattie asked:
“Any cargo?”
“Three wagons of grain getting loaded.”
Jeb looked at her.
She understood.
More contaminated feed.
Or perhaps something designed to fail.
They could not wait.
But proof needed to be clean.
Jeb contacted a territorial livestock inspector through an old acquaintance.
He also contacted the bank holding Iron Ridge’s operating note.
That was dangerous.
Admitting fraud risked panic.
But hiding it would be worse if Barrows reached them first.
The banker agreed to review the accounts.
Hattie prepared everything.
Original ranch ledger.
Market grain prices.
Freight invoices.
Clem’s private entries.
Valley Transit receipts.
Dates.
Amounts.
She created a simple comparison table by hand.
Jeb watched.
“You really did this for a living?”
“For years.”
“Your husband was lucky.”
Hattie’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
Jeb realized immediately he had touched grief.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She continued writing.
“He trusted me.”
“That was one of his better qualities.”
Jeb asked:
“Do you miss him?”
“Every day.”
He looked down.
Hattie placed the pen aside.
“That doesn’t mean there is no room for anything else.”
Jeb met her eyes.
She smiled.
“You can stop looking guilty every time I mention him.”
“I’m not jealous of a dead man.”
“Good.”
“I’m intimidated.”
Hattie laughed.
“Why?”
“He apparently had enough sense to let you run the books.”
“Learn.”
Jeb smiled.
“I am.”
The inspector arrived two days later.
So did a representative from the bank.
Clem noticed.
Of course.
His behavior changed.
More questions.
Longer absences.
Then one night he tried accessing Jeb’s office.