I exhale slowly. “He’ll have to. We’ve got video. He can’t ignore this. He wanted proof. Well, we have it now.”
We’ve been playing by the rules for weeks now, hoping that if we kept quiet and followed the proper channels, the sheriff would take us seriously.
But now we know it’s not about ‘petty’ vandalism. This is sabotage. A calculated effort to run Clint into the ground. We can’t afford to waste any more time.
The sheriff’s office comes into view. Clint pulls into the parking lot and slams the truck into park, the sound echoing in the quiet evening. He cuts the engine, but none of us makes a move to get out.
We know what’s at stake now. If we don’t get Miller on our side, we could lose everything.
I glance at Clint, then at Reid.
“We go in together this time,” I say. “We don’t leave until he listens.”
Clint’s eyes harden. “He’ll listen.”
We all climb out of the truck and head toward the sheriff’s office. The door creaks open as we step inside, and the familiar smell of coffee and old paperwork hits me.
Sheriff Miller’s behind the desk, his thick arms folded across his chest, a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up when we walk in, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“You guys,” he says with a little sigh. “What’s happening now?”
Clint doesn’t waste a second. He’s straight to the point. “We’ve got evidence, Sheriff. Evidence that proves it’s not just vandalism. Someone’s trying to push us off the land. And we know who.”
Miller’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he motions for us to sit down. We all take a seat at the small table in the corner of the room. The tension is almost palpable.
Reid pulls out his phone and taps the screen, bringing up the footage. The black and white night vision makes the barn look eerie, something out of a horror movie, but the figure we see on the screen is unmistakable.
We all watch in silence as the man walks across the frame, that telltale motion of his hand against his waistband, the way he holds himself with that same confidence we’ve seen time and time again.
“This,” Reid says, tapping the screen, “is Derek. Thomas Buck’s assistant.”
Sheriff Miller leans in, his eyes narrowing. “Derek? You sure about this?”
“Positive,” I answer. “That walk. The cocky swagger… that can only be him.”
Clint is firm. “It’s all been planned. The vandalism. The sabotage. It’s meant to drive us out of business. To force us to sell.”
Miller leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping the edge of his coffee cup. His gaze flickers between us, processing the information.
He’s not one to jump to conclusions, but I can tell he’s weighing the facts. This isn’t the kind of case he’s used to handling, not the way we want it to be.
“Alright,” he finally says. “I can move forward with this investigation now.”
Reid lets out a breath, clearly relieved, but I can see the wariness still sitting in Clint’s eyes. He knows this isn’t over yet. It’s just the beginning.
But at least now, for the first time in weeks, we’re not alone in this fight.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Dakota
I’m halfwaythrough my second cup of coffee at the Buckhorn Diner when the gossip hits fast as wildfire.
You can practically feel it before you even hear it. The way the air shifts, the sudden hush before the storm. Then Jessie Murphy’s voice cuts through the diner, sharp as a whistle.
“Thomas Buck’s assistant just got arrested!”
The fork I’m holding hovers midair, a bite of pie forgotten.Wait. What?
