Cal shook his head. “No. It’s yours.”
He turned and walked toward the barn doors.
Wade didn’t call after him.
Maybe he knew better.
Maybe, for the first time in his life, no command would bring his son back.
Burke watched Cal step into the gray morning light and keep walking down the drive, past the federal vehicles, past the open gates, away from the ridge.
Tessa exhaled softly beside him. “That was a long time coming.”
Burke looked back at Wade.
The old king of Hollis Ridge stood alone in the barn aisle, the empire he’d ruled for decades emptying out around him.
For thirty years, the county had bent around Wade Hollis. Banks. Boards. Fundraisers. Judges. Sheriffs.
People had lowered their voices when his name came up.
They didn’t anymore.
An agent stepped beside Wade and gestured toward the house. “Mr. Hollis.”
Wade looked once toward the open gates.
Then toward Burke.
For one second, the old arrogance tried to surface.
Burke held his stare without moving.
No anger.
No satisfaction.
The law, finally standing where it should have stood twenty-seven years ago.
Wade looked away first.
Burke turned toward the drive.
Behind him, federal agents kept moving.
Boxes kept loading.
Horses shifted in stalls that no longer felt like part of a kingdom.
By the time Burke reached his truck, the morning fog had begun to lift from the ridge. Sunlight broke through in pale strips across the pasture, catching on the open iron gates.
For the first time in a generation, Hollis Ridge looked less like a fortress.
And more like evidence.
* * *
Cal Hollis — Leaving the Ridge
