Half belonged to Taggart.

But Edwin later wanted out.

Silas bought his share.

Or claimed he did.

“The transfer papers disappeared,” Silas said.

Martha narrowed her eyes.

“You destroyed them.”

Silas smiled.

“Smart girl.”

Gideon lunged again.

Martha stopped him.

“Let him finish.”

Silas had built wealth through forgery, false loans, stolen cattle, and manipulated accounts.

Years later, when Gideon took increasing responsibility for Red Canyon, Silas feared his son would uncover the fraud.

So he vanished.

But he never stopped controlling the ranch from behind the scenes.

Jebediah had worked for him.

Bank officers worked for him.

Even some of Taggart’s apparent attacks had been Silas’s doing, designed to keep Gideon focused on the obvious enemy across the valley.

“Why destroy your own ranch?” Gideon asked.

Silas smiled.

“Because I’m not destroying it.”

He tapped the foreclosure notice.

“I’m reclaiming it.”

Silas had transferred the forged debt to a company he secretly controlled.

When Red Canyon defaulted, he would acquire the land cleanly and cheaply.

Gideon would be ruined.

Josiah would be blamed.

And Silas could sell the ranch to a railroad syndicate for six times its agricultural value.

Gideon stared at his father.

“You’d destroy me for money?”

Silas’s expression hardened.

“You destroyed yourself.”

“How?”

“You married a stranger.”

His eyes moved toward Martha.

“A Taggart.”

Gideon stepped beside her.

“My wife.”

Silas laughed.

“You think she’s here because of your letters?”

Gideon’s stomach tightened.

Silas looked delighted.

“Ask her why Clara Higgins really left Denver.”

Martha went pale.

“Silas.”

“Ask her.”

Gideon turned.

“Martha?”

She couldn’t answer.

Silas delivered the knife.

“Because Clara Higgins wasn’t Edwin Taggart’s second wife.”

Martha whispered, “Stop.”

Silas continued.

“She was mine.”

The room ceased existing.

Gideon heard only his own heartbeat.

Martha shook her head.

“No.”

Silas smiled.

“Your mother was Clara Caldwell before she ever called herself Higgins.”

Martha backed away.

“No.”

“Edwin protected her after she left me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

Silas reached into his coat.

He removed a faded photograph.

A younger Silas stood beside a woman Gideon remembered vaguely from childhood.

Clara.

In her arms was a baby.

Written on the back:

MARTHA. THREE MONTHS OLD.

Gideon stopped breathing.

Martha stared at the photograph.

Then at Silas.

Then at Gideon.

She understood first.

“No…”

Silas spoke almost gently.

“Martha isn’t Josiah Taggart’s sister, Gideon.”

His smile returned.

“She’s yours.”

Martha made a sound like something breaking.

Gideon staggered backward.

The marriage.

Their letters.

The ceremony.

Everything turned sickening.

But then Martha grabbed the photograph.

She stared harder.

“No.”

Silas chuckled.

“Truth hurts.”

“No.”

She walked to the window where daylight was stronger.

“What’s wrong?” Gideon whispered.

Martha rubbed the photograph between two fingers.

Then looked at Silas.

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

His smile faded.

“What?”

She tore the photograph.

Silas shouted.

Martha held up the pieces.

“The paper is wrong.”

Everyone stared.

She pointed.

“This photographic stock wasn’t manufactured thirty-four years ago.”