But he’s not here anymore.
I give the handle a tug. It doesn’t budge.
“Step back,” I say, already bracing my shoulder.
“Cash—”
Too late. The door groans, gives, then splinters at the frame as it flies inward with me tumbling in behind it. Dust clouds the air. A streak of sunlight cuts across the floor.
We both freeze.
Inside, the room is small and shadowed, lined with narrow shelves and an old desk shoved against the back wall. Paper. Ledgers. A busted lamp. And a heavy lockbox resting under a folded tarp.
“Holy crap,” Avery breathes beside me, her voice tight with awe and something that sounds suspiciously like nerves. Her eyes are wide, flicking over every inch of the room as if it might vanish if she blinks too fast. She takes a step forward, hand hovering near my arm like she needs to steady herself. “It’s like a cowboy panic room, or the place secrets go to die.”
I step in, flipping the light switch out of habit, and to my surprise, the bulb overhead flickers and hums to life.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Avery sidesteps past me and runs her hand along the desk, leaving a trail through the dust. She picks up a yellowed ledger, thumbing through the pages. Her forehead creases.
“This is...these dates go back thirty years,” she says. “That’s before I was even born.”
My fingers find the lockbox. It’s heavy. The kind of heavy that means it holds more than cash or receipts. I glance at her, and without needing to ask, she nods.
I pop the latch.
Inside is a stack of envelopes, a few bound documents, and a photograph that makes my heart stutter. Dad and Wade, young, barely older than I am now, standing in front of Painted Sky with a third man I don’t recognize, They’re grinning. Proud. But it’s what’s scrawled on the back that catches my eye:
“The beginning. 1987. – J.B.”
Avery leans over my shoulder. “I know Dad's brother, Uncle Wade, but who’s the third guy?”
“No idea.”
We go quiet again. I pull out the documents. Legal stuff, some of it oil contracts, a few letters with a bank logo at the top. I skim one and feel my jaw tighten.
“This is... these are deeds. Mineral rights.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“He never said anything about oil leases.” The words feel foreign in my mouth, like I’m saying them about someone else. A knot twists in my gut, part disbelief, part betrayal. He wasn’t just a rancher; he was the moral compass of this place, or at least I thought he was. But this?
This makes me wonder how much of what I believed about him was a carefully crafted illusion.
“No. He didn’t.” Her voice drops. “Why would he hide this?”
I don’t have an answer. But I can feel it, the pull of something bigger than us winding through this dusty room. Something he buried.
Avery picks up another envelope, this one sealed with wax. She turns it in her hands. “It’s addressed to me.”
My chest tightens. “You gonna open it?”
“I should.” She hesitates. “But not here.”
I nod. That’s her call. This letter could change everything, or nothing. Either way, she needs space to deal with it.
I set the papers back in the box, then press the lid closed with a soft snap. “We need to go through all of this. Slowly.”
