“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They gathered five trustworthy hands.

Before leaving, Cole entered his study and opened the bottom drawer of his father’s old desk.

Inside lay a small leather-bound Bible.

His father had carried it for thirty years.

Cole had not opened it since the funeral.

He wasn’t certain why he reached for it now.

Perhaps because he feared he might not return.

Perhaps because the dead suddenly seemed closer than the living.

He opened the cover.

An inscription stood in his father’s handwriting.

To my son, Cole. Never mistake the ownership of land for the ownership of truth.

Cole frowned.

Beneath the inscription was a date.

October 12, 1881.

And beside it, a tiny drawing of a star.

He recognized the symbol.

It was carved into the fireplace mantel.

His father had always called it the Bennett star.

Cole stared at it for a moment.

Then closed the Bible.

There would be time for questions later.

If he survived.

Chapter Eight: A Prisoner Who Refused to Bow

The old mill stood beside a narrow bend in Bennett Creek.

Once, it had processed grain for surrounding farms.

Now its windows were broken, its machinery rusted, and its wooden walls leaned toward the river.

Inside, Lila sat tied to a chair.

Mercer stood before her, his injured hand wrapped in a bloody cloth.

“You’ve caused us considerable trouble,” he said.

Lila lifted her chin.

“You should have stayed away.”

He laughed.

“Brave words.”

“Untie me.”

“Tell us where the ledger is.”

“I don’t know.”

Mercer leaned close.

“You expect us to believe that?”

“My father died before he could tell me.”

“Then why did you come to Bennett Ranch?”

She said nothing.

Mercer slapped the table beside her.

“Answer!”

Lila flinched.

But held his gaze.

“Because Thomas Bennett knew my father.”

Mercer exchanged a glance with another man.

It was brief.

But Lila saw it.

And her stomach tightened.

“You already knew that,” she whispered.

Mercer smiled.

“Your father wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought.”

A voice spoke from the shadows.

“Neither was Thomas Bennett.”

Silas Darrenholt stepped into the lantern light.

He was sixty-two, tall and silver-haired, with a polished appearance that concealed a lifetime of calculated brutality.

Lila stared at him.

Darrenholt smiled.

“Good evening, Miss Whitcomb.”

She remembered him.

As a child, she had seen him dining with her father.

He had given her a peppermint stick.

Then, years later, he had testified against Elias Whitcomb in court.

“You destroyed my family,” she whispered.

Darrenholt removed his gloves.

“Your father destroyed himself.”

“He told the truth.”

“He failed to understand that truth belongs to the men who can afford to defend it.”

Lila felt sick.

“Why do you want the ledger?”

Darrenholt’s expression hardened.

“Because it contains information that should never have been written down.”

“Then it exists.”

His silence answered her.

Lila’s mind raced.

For years, she had wondered whether her father had imagined the ledger.

Whether the hidden papers were merely a desperate man’s final hope.

Now she knew.

They were real.

And Darrenholt was terrified of them.

She leaned forward.

“Cole will come for me.”

Darrenholt smiled again.

“I know.”

A cold realization struck her.

“You wanted him to.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Darrenholt glanced toward the window.

“Because tonight, Miss Whitcomb, I intend to finish something that began thirty years ago.”

Chapter Nine: The Trap at the Mill

Cole approached from the western ridge.

Midnight moved silently beneath him.

Wade rode beside him.

Below, lanterns glimmered inside the mill.

Two guards watched the main entrance.

Another stood near the creek.

Wade studied the building.

“Too easy.”

Cole nodded.

“It’s a trap.”

“Then we don’t go through the front.”

They dismounted in the cottonwoods.

Cole sent three men to secure the horses and cut off the eastern trail.

Wade circled toward the millrace.

Cole slipped along the riverbank.

The rain had weakened to a fine mist.

Through a broken window, he saw Lila tied to a chair.

Her face was pale.

But she was alive.

He exhaled.

Then Darrenholt stepped into view.

Cole froze.

He recognized the man immediately.

And something inside him turned cold.

Darrenholt spoke loudly enough to be heard outside.

“Come in, Bennett. I’ve been expecting you.”

Cole remained still.

“Your father would have appreciated the dramatic entrance,” Darrenholt added.

That did it.

Cole rose from behind the window.

“Let her go.”

Lila’s head snapped toward him.

“Cole!”

Darrenholt smiled.

“There you are.”

Cole entered through the side door with his revolver drawn.

Three gunmen raised their weapons.

“Drop them,” Cole ordered.

Darrenholt lifted a hand.

“Gentlemen, let’s behave like civilized men.”

The gunmen hesitated.

Cole kept his weapon trained on Darrenholt.

“Untie her.”

“In a moment.”

“Now.”

Darrenholt studied him.

“You have your father’s temper.”

“You knew him.”

“Very well.”

“Did you kill him?”

The room fell silent.

Darrenholt’s eyes narrowed.

“Who told you that?”

Cole stepped forward.

“Answer.”

Darrenholt sighed.

“Your father was a troublesome man.”

Lila watched Cole’s expression change.

“What did you do to him?” Cole asked.

Darrenholt looked almost regretful.

“He refused an arrangement that would have made us both wealthy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“He made enemies.”

Cole’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Lila cried out.

“Cole, don’t!”

He stopped.

Darrenholt smiled.

“She’s right. Killing me will not restore your father.”

Cole swallowed his rage.

“Then tell me where the evidence is.”

Darrenholt looked at Lila.

“You haven’t told him everything, have you?”

Lila went still.

Cole turned toward her.

“What does he mean?”

Her lips parted.

Darrenholt chuckled.

“Ask her why she really came to your ranch.”

Cole looked between them.

“She told me.”

“Did she?”

Darrenholt stepped closer.

“She didn’t simply come looking for a ledger, Bennett.”

Lila closed her eyes.

Darrenholt delivered the words slowly.

“She came looking for you.”