Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, I truly did.
“I’m finishing what Mother started.”
Father raised his hand.
For twenty-two years, that gesture had been enough to silence me.
This time, I didn’t move.
Neither did anyone else.
Reverend Thomas began reading.
By the second paragraph, the crowd had gone silent.
By the third, men were staring at Sheriff Cole.
By the fourth, the deputy standing beside him removed Cole’s badge.
Father backed away.
Then he ran.
He made it three steps.
A woman tripped him.
Mrs.
Agnes Turner.
The seventy-year-old baker.
Father landed face-first in the mud.
Half the town laughed.
I didn’t.
I simply watched Deputy Harris put iron cuffs around his wrists.
Harlan was released that afternoon.
But the biggest surprise came three days later.
Not from Father.
Not from the sheriff.
Not even from Mother’s papers.
It came from a banker in Silver Junction.
Mr.
Whitcomb arrived carrying a locked case and asked to speak with me privately.
Harlan started to leave the room.
The banker stopped him.
“Actually, Mr.
Creek, you should remain.”
He placed the case on the table.
“Miss Hale, there is an additional condition in your mother’s estate.”
I felt Harlan stiffen.
“What condition?”
Mr.
Whitcomb opened the case.
Inside were financial records.
Dozens of them.
“Your mother did not merely own the mountain property.”
He turned one ledger toward me.
“She owned a controlling share in the Silver Junction Water Company.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“And mineral rights beneath approximately six thousand additional acres purchased under her maiden name.”
My mouth fell open.
Harlan swore under his breath.
Mr.
Whitcomb almost smiled.
“With accumulated income, unpaid lease revenue, and the railroad’s preliminary purchase proposal…”
He gave me a number.
I stopped hearing anything after the first three digits.
It was more money than I could imagine spending in ten lifetimes.
Father hadn’t merely stolen land from me.
He had spent twelve years trying to hide the fact that his supposedly helpless daughter was one of the wealthiest unmarried women in the territory.
But the banker had not finished.
“There is something else.”
Of course there was.
He handed me a sealed document.
“Your mother created a protective trust.”
I opened it.
The condition was written plainly.
Any guardian, husband, claimant, or other person who accepted financial consideration in exchange for marriage to Josephine would permanently forfeit all right to her estate.
I looked at Harlan.
Twenty dollars.
Two horses.
Father’s debt.
Harlan shook his head slowly.
“I didn’t know.”
The banker smiled.
“Your mother thought you might not.”
“What does that mean?”
I asked.
“She named a trustee.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
Mr.
Whitcomb turned the document around.
The name at the bottom nearly stopped my heart.
HARLAN CREEK.
I looked at him.
Harlan looked more shocked than I was.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Mr.
Whitcomb nodded.
“Mrs.
Hale left instructions that Mr.
Creek was never to be informed of his trusteeship unless he fulfilled three conditions.”
“What conditions?”
The banker counted them.
