Chapter 4 - Room 314The Marlowe Hotel stood downtown, seventeen floors of glass and steel.
Room 314 was empty.
At least that was what the manager claimed.
Robert showed his credentials.
The manager's face went pale.
“I don't want trouble.”
“You already have it,” Robert said.
We entered.
The room smelled like expensive perfume and cigarette smoke.
There were no suitcases.
No clothes.
No signs of Avery.
But there was a laptop on the desk.
And beside it, a photograph.
Avery.
She was sitting in a chair.
Her wrists were tied.
My vision blurred.
On the back of the photo:
ONE CHOICE.
I turned toward Robert.
“What choice?”
Before he could answer, the laptop screen switched on.
A video began playing.
Alan appeared.
He sat in a dark room.
“You're probably wondering where Avery is.”
I gripped the desk.
“If you're watching this, Clifford, you've already discovered Eleanor.”
He smiled.
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
Then he leaned toward the camera.
“You should have signed the ranch over.”
The video paused.
A countdown appeared.
59:59.
Robert examined the screen.
“This is a timed message.”
The video resumed.
“Avery will live if you bring the original ranch deed to the old train station.”
My heart pounded.
“But there's one condition.”
Alan smiled.
“You come alone.”
The video ended.
Robert looked at me.
“Absolutely not.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“And that's exactly why they chose you.”
Margaret entered the room.
She had followed us without permission.
“I know where the train station is.”
Robert frowned.
“Margaret—”
“I know where the deed is too.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The original deed isn't in the ranch.”
“Then where?”
Margaret looked at me.
“In the place Alan has spent twenty years trying to find.”
“What place?”
She opened her handbag.
Inside was an old photograph.
My ranch.
Taken decades ago.
On the back, written in my father's handwriting:
Vault below the chapel.
I stared.
“There is no vault under the chapel.”
“There was.”
Robert frowned.
“Until 1998.”
Margaret nodded.
“It was sealed.”
“Why?”
“Because that's where your father kept the original trust records.”
I felt cold.
“Then why would Alan need the ranch deed?”
Margaret answered.
“He doesn't.”
“What?”
“He needs the trust records.”
Robert suddenly understood.
“Clifford, the ranch isn't the real asset.”
I stared at him.
“What is?”
“Mineral rights.”
My mouth went dry.
Robert continued.
“Your grandfather discovered something beneath the eastern property.”
“Oil?”
“Rare earth minerals.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You're telling me this entire war is over dirt?”
“No.”
Robert looked toward the window.
“It's over what's beneath the dirt.”
He opened the old file.
Inside were maps.
Surveys.
Geological reports.
Projected valuations.
Billions.
I sat down.
“Why didn't I know?”
“Your father hid it.”
“Why?”
“To prevent exactly this.”
Margaret pointed to one section.
“There is another reason.”
“What?”
“The mineral rights were transferred into a trust.”
“Who owns the trust?”
Margaret looked at me.
“You.”
I stared.
“Then Alan can never own the ranch.”
“Not legally.”
“And that's why he forged the signature.”
Robert nodded.
“He isn't trying to steal your ranch.”
He tapped the map.
“He's trying to steal the trust.”
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
A photo of Avery.
This time she was standing.
Alive.
A timer appeared beneath it.
42 MINUTES.
Then another message arrived.
Bring the deed. Bring nobody.
I looked at Robert.
“I'm going.”
“No.”
“I'll take the fake deed.”
Robert shook his head.
“They know we have copies.”
“Then we make them believe the original is here.”
Margaret reached into her purse.
“I have something better.”
She placed an old brass key on the table.
“What's that?”
“The chapel vault.”
I stared at her.
“Margaret…”
She whispered:
“We're going to give Alan exactly what he wants.”
May you like
Then she smiled.
“And let him open the door.”
