As we pulled away, my phone buzzed again in my pocket.
Another call.
Unknown number, but local.
I answered because I couldn’t afford not to. “Hargrove.”
“Mr. Hargrove,” Marlene said again, still too bright. “I wanted to confirm your availability for today. We have all the documents ready. I also need to advise you that if this isn’t done soon, there’s interest from another party in all of Mr. Callahan’s property. So if you’re proceeding, the sooner the better.”
My jaw clenched. “I’m proceeding.”
“Excellent,” she said. “We’ll see you shortly.” Her voice was too chipper, too excited, and I wanted to scream at herthat this was wrong. I ended the call and stared out the windshield.
“Let’s go,” I said as I dialled another number.
“Hey Wyatt, what’s up?” Brooke’s chipper voice asked.
“Do you happen to be at the arena still?” I’d seen her there checking the horses that boarded there.
“Yeah, need me to grab Maddy for you?”
“That would be great, I’ve got a meeting I can’t push back.” She was Tessa’s boss, and I didn’t really want to get into the details, but I would if she questioned me.
“No problem, I was heading to your place after I’m done here, so she can hop in.” She was silent for a moment, and I heard some rustling in the background. “Wyatt, have you talked to Tessa? I’m worried about her.”
“I haven’t, but after this meeting I intend to.”
“Good. See you later.”
“Thanks, Brooke,” I said just before I hung up the phone.
At the credit union, Holt parked in the lot and killed the engine. I opened the door and stepped out, the air hitting my face like a slap. I rolled my shoulders once, grounding myself.
Holt got out, too. “Are you sure this is the right thing?”
I looked at him. “Yeah no, I don’t think it is at all, but she’s not going down without me fighting.”
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and I understood, suddenly, why Ray hated this place. It sucked the warmth out of a man. It made you feel like a file number.
Marlene met us near the front, heels clicking on tile. She was all pressed blazer and professional smile, clipboard in her hands like she could hold the world steady with paper.
“Mr. Hargrove,” she said. Her smile tightened when she saw Holt, like she didn’t like extra witnesses. Good. Let her be uncomfortable. Let her remember this wasn’t just ink. It was land. More importantly, it was people.
She led us into a small office with framed photographsof fields and a poster about “financial wellness” that made my stomach turn. She set a folder on the desk, thick with documents.
“I’ll walk you through the terms,” she said.
“I already know the terms,” I replied. “I’m changing them.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me.”
I leaned forward, palms on the desk, and kept my voice calm even though something vicious beat under my ribs.
“The debt gets paid,” I said. “Every outstanding piece of it. Taxes. Operating credit. Any liens attached to the land. All of it.”
“Yes,” she said cautiously. “That’s what this purchase agreement accomplishes.”
“No,” I corrected. “This purchase agreement transfers title.”
