“Nathan inherited his mother’s worst quality.”

“What?”

“Conscience.”

Victor drank.

“What do you want?”

I looked at the floor.

“To end this.”

His expression sharpened.

“How?”

“I’ll sign.”

Silence.

Then he smiled.

“The settlement?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Why the sudden change?”

I looked at him.

“Because I’m tired.”

That part required no acting.

Victor walked to a cabinet.

He removed a thick document.

There it was.

My supposed forty-dollar debt.

He laid it on the desk.

“You sign here.”

I picked up the pen.

My eyes moved over the page.

Loan balance.

Interest.

Collection fee.

Property security.

And near the bottom, hidden inside a dense paragraph:

All hereditary title, legacy claim, mineral right, water right, trust interest, and ancestral interest held or later discovered…

My heart hammered.

Nathan had been right.

Victor leaned closer.

“Sign.”

I placed the pen against the paper.

Then stopped.

“Why?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Why what?”

“Why all this for forty dollars?”

“Because debts matter.”

I laughed.

He stiffened.

“Forty dollars?”

I looked around the magnificent room.

“You murdered Caleb for forty dollars?”

Victor’s face changed.

Only slightly.

Enough.

“He should have stayed out of matters beyond his understanding.”

The words hung between us.

I whispered, “You killed him.”

Victor’s eyes went cold.

“Your husband killed himself the moment he opened my father’s records.”

From the hallway came the click of a door.

Victor turned.

Nathan stepped into the study.

Sheriff Boone stood behind him.

So did Samuel Turner.

And Judge Amos Whitfield.

Victor’s face became perfectly still.

Nathan said, “Thank you, Father.”

Victor reached for his gun.

I had never seen anyone move so quickly.

Except Nathan.

Two revolvers cleared leather.

One shot exploded.

I screamed.

Victor staggered.

His pistol dropped.

Blood spread across his shoulder.

Nathan stood with smoke curling from his revolver.

“I told you once,” he said quietly, “I never fire first.”

Victor collapsed against the desk.

Then Lefty appeared in the doorway behind us.

He had a shotgun.

Everyone froze.

Lefty aimed directly at Nathan’s back.

“Drop it.”

Nathan slowly lowered his gun.

Victor smiled through the pain.

“Good man.”

Lefty looked at him.

Something changed in the giant’s face.

He lowered the shotgun.

Then aimed it at Victor.

“No.”

Victor stared.

“What?”

Lefty’s voice was rough.

“I’m done.”

“You belong to me.”

Lefty almost smiled.

“That’s the trouble with you, Caldwell.”

He stepped backward.

“You think everybody does.”

Judge Whitfield entered the study fully.

“Victor Caldwell, you are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, fraud, conspiracy, obstruction, unlawful imprisonment, assault, and land theft.”

Victor began laughing.

Even wounded, even cornered, he laughed.

“You fools.”

His face had gone pale.

“You think those papers give her this town?”

Judge Whitfield said nothing.

Victor looked at me.

“You haven’t told her, have you, Nathan?”

Nathan stiffened.

My stomach dropped.

“Told me what?”

Nathan looked toward the judge.

The judge looked uncomfortable.

Victor laughed harder.

“Oh, this is beautiful.”

“What?”

I turned toward Nathan.

“What haven’t you told me?”

Nathan said my name.

That frightened me more than anything.

“Morgan…”

Victor interrupted.

“Elias Mercer had only one child. Abigail.”

“My mother.”

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“But Abigail Mercer died when she was eighteen.”

I stared at him.

“What?”