Richard approaches us, his face streaked with dirt and blood from a cut on his cheek. “Thank you,” he says. “You saved my life.”
I nod, accepting his gratitude without a word. My attention is already shifting to our next problem—the documents we managed to rescue and what to do with them.
Chapter 20
Lana
“We need to secure all of this,” Kane announces, gesturing to our salvaged treasures. “If what Richard says is true, these could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
I nod in agreement, my eyes still on Caleb’s injured shoulder. Despite his attempt to hide it, I can tell he’s in pain when he pushes himself to stand. “We should get you cleaned up properly,” I tell him.
“I’ll be fine,” he insists, though he winces when he moves his arm to take a sip of water.
Jake steps forward, taking charge. “Let’s get everything back to the house. We can assess what we have and make a plan there.”
We gather the rescued documents carefully, each of us taking a portion to carry that didn’t fit in the crates or the steamer trunk. The walk to Jake’s house feels longer than it should, my mind racing with everything we’ve discovered. Thomas Wolf’s final message echoes in my thoughts—the true treasure hidden where water meets stone, waiting for the equinox.
At the house, we spread the documents across the dining table, creating a makeshift archival workspace. Richard opensthe metal box he risked his life for, revealing the original mine deed and accompanying papers.
“Thank God. This proves the Hawthornes never legally owned the mine,” he explains, his voice hoarse from dust. “They forged documents after Wolf’s death.”
“Which means their entire corporate empire is built on fraud,” Connor observes, examining the papers. “Though proving that in court after 140 years would be challenging.”
“We don’t need to prove it in court,” Margret says unexpectedly. We all turn to look at her. She stands straighter, a new determination in her eyes. “We just need to make it public. The people will decide.”
“That’s dangerous,” Kane warns. “NTM won’t take this lying down.”
“I don’t care,” Margret replies firmly. “They killed my brother. It’s time someone stood up to them.”
I feel a twinge of admiration for the older woman’s courage. “We need to be smart about this,” I say. “Strategic. We should make copies of everything first and store them in multiple secure locations.”
“I agree,” Caleb adds, wincing as he shifts his weight. “And we need to be careful about whom we trust with this information.”
After another hour of sorting and discussing, we made a plan. Connor will contact an attorney. Kane will contact Declan about securing manpower. Mia and Kori will photograph and catalog everything. Jake and Ella will research the waterfall location. And Richard and Margret will compile a timeline of NTM’s activities over the decades.
“What about us?” I ask Caleb quietly as the others begin their assigned tasks.
He meets my eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite his obvious exhaustion. “We still have a dinner date, don’t we?”
I feel a flutter in my stomach. “You’re still up for that? After nearly being buried alive?”
“Especially after nearly being buried alive,” he replies, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Life’s too short to postpone the good things.”
As the afternoon wears on, we help secure the documents in Jake’s locked closet, where he keeps his guns and ammunition, and set up more security cameras around the property. By late afternoon, we’re all exhausted, covered in dust and grime.
“I think we’ve done all we can for today,” Jake announces finally. “Everyone should get some rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.”
There’s a collective murmur of agreement as we begin gathering our things. Kane and Kori head out first with Connor and Mia. Richard helps Margret to her truck, the two of them deep in conversation about their shared family history.
I approach Caleb, who’s sitting on the porch steps, looking out at the setting sun. “Seven o’clock still work for you?” I ask.
He looks up, and despite the dirt and blood, his smile makes my heart skip a beat. “I’ll pick you up at the lodge.”
“I’ll be ready,” I promise, then hesitate. “You’re sure you’re okay? That shoulder looked bad.”
“Nothing a hot shower and a couple of ibuprofen won’t fix,” he assures me. “Go on. Get that pink hair cleaned up.”
I touch my dusty hair self-consciously. “You really don’t hate it?”
