Samuel had returned home after midnight.

His boots were muddy.

His coat had been torn near one shoulder.

I had been furious.

“Do you know what hour it is?”

He had kissed my forehead.

“Late.”

“Samuel.”

“I know.”

Then he had smiled.

That tired, crooked smile.

“Someday, Morgan, I’m going to give you a house with a blue door.”

I laughed.

“With what money?”

“You’d be surprised what forty dollars can buy.”

I had forgotten those words.

Until now.

My breath caught.

“Nathan.”

His cell was across the corridor.

Silence.

“Nathan!”

A shadow moved.

“I’m here.”

I gripped the bars.

“What did Samuel buy?”

Nathan stepped into the weak lantern light.

His lip was swollen.

“Before I tell you, I need to know something.”

“What?”

“Did Samuel ever give you a packet? Deed? Map? Anything sealed?”

“No.”

“Think.”

“I have thought about nothing except Samuel for three months.”

Nathan studied me.

“Did he change anything in the house before he died?”

“No.”

“Hide anything?”

“No.”

“Say anything strange?”

I nearly laughed.

“My husband once spent an hour arguing that chickens understood human insults. Strange was not unusual.”

Nathan almost smiled.

Then I remembered.

A week before Samuel’s death, he had insisted on mending my gray dress.

The dress I was wearing.

Samuel could barely sew a button.

Yet he had sat at the kitchen table with a needle, cursing quietly, repairing a tear inside the hem.

My eyes dropped.

Nathan saw it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Morgan.”

I touched the skirt.

“He mended this dress.”

Nathan’s expression changed.

“Where?”

“The hem.”

“Check it.”

My fingers trembled.

I turned the fabric.

There.

A section of stitching darker than the rest.

Samuel’s clumsy work.

I tore at it.

Thread snapped.

Something crackled inside the hem.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I pulled harder.

A narrow strip of folded paper slipped into my palm.

Nathan whispered, “Dear God.”

I unfolded it.

Three words were written in Samuel’s hand.

CEDAR SHAFT. THIRD LEVEL.

Underneath was a sequence of numbers.

Nathan grabbed his bars.

“What numbers?”

I read them.

His eyes widened.

“What?”

“Survey coordinates.”

“For what?”

Nathan stepped closer.

“For the property Samuel bought.”

Footsteps sounded above us.

I shoved the paper back into my dress just as the basement door opened.

Victor Caldwell came down alone.

He carried a bottle of whiskey.

And a contract.

He stopped outside my cell.

“Morgan.”

I said nothing.

He unlocked the door.

Nathan tensed.

Victor entered and placed the contract on the bench.

“Sign this.”

I looked at it.

Legal language covered the page.

“I can’t read half of that.”

“I’ll simplify it. You relinquish all claims connected to Samuel Hale’s estate. I forgive the forty dollars. You leave Copper Ridge today.”

Nathan laughed bitterly.

“There it is.”

Victor glared at him.

I looked at Victor.

“You tried to whip me over a debt you were willing to forgive?”

Victor’s eyes stayed on mine.

“Sign.”

“What did Samuel buy?”