“No,” West says. “The cuts were too clean. Too precise. And I found something else near the south ditch. Boot prints. Not hiking boots. Work boots. Lug soles.”
“Okay...”
“I ran the tread pattern through the database. No match, but I cross-referenced it with a report I filed last month. Clint Daniels had a similar issue over near his place. Someone cut his fences right before a scheduled inspection.”
I go still. “Clint? Why would someone cut Clint’s fences?”
“Because Clint wasn’t the target,” West says. “The target was the land. See, Clint has a neighbor who’s been trying to expand his operation. Someone with deep pockets who doesn’t like taking no for an answer. They started a pressure campaign.”
“What kind of pressure?”
“Regulatory harassment,” West says. “They call in anonymous tips to the county. They file complaints about zoning. They sabotage the property. They make it impossible for the owner to maintain compliance. Then, when the owner fails an inspection, the county steps in. Fines, liens, court orders. If the owner can’t pay, the property goes to auction.”
I grip the phone tight. “And who buys it?”
“A shell company. A holding trust. Untraceable.”
The pieces slide together in my mind. The missed inspections. The fines. The sudden urgency. The massive debt.
“You think someone is doing this to Saramaria,” I say.
“I think someone is trying to force a sale,” West says. “And I think they are using the county to do it. If she can’t pay the fines, and she can’t fix the code violations in time, the county could condemn the structures. If they condemn the structures, the land value drops. The bank could call in the loan. It would be a feeding frenzy.”
“Who?” I ask. “Who would want this place that badly?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” West says. “But I’m going to find out. I’ve got a few leads I want to chase down. Just keep your eyes open. Watch the perimeter. And tell the owner not to trust any strangers offering ‘help.’”
“Thanks, West.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” he says. “Watch your back, Rhett.”
I hang up. I stand there in the cold morning air, the coffee in my cup forgotten. The anger is a slow burn, starting in my gut and spreading outward. Someone is doing this. Someone is targeting her. They’re trying to steal her home right out from under her.
I look toward the pasture. Knox and Boone are near the water trough, laughing about something.
I walk over to them. Knox is just hanging up his phone.
“That was Gary,” Knox says. “The Wrangler check cleared. It’s in my account.”
“Good news,” Boone says.
“We have the cash from the fundraiser,” I say. “And now Knox has this. We’re in good shape financially.”
“So why do you look like you want to punch someone?” Boone asks.
I tell them about West’s call. I tell them about the sabotage. I tell them about the scheme.
When I finish, the silence is heavy.
Boone stares at the wooden post he is leaning against. His knuckles turn white. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he punches the post. The wood splinters under his fist.
“Who?” he growls. “Who is doing this?”
“We don’t know,” I say. “West is looking into it. But it makes sense. The missed inspections. The fines. It was a setup.”
“Who would want the ranch that bad?” Knox asks. “It’s a mess. It needs a fortune of work.”
“The land,” I say. “The location. It’s prime real estate, especially if you don’t care about the history.”
