My pulse hammers in my ears.
No other choice.
This isn’t about laws or guilt or even morality.It’s about leverage.It’s about keeping control when someone’s already got the blade against your throat.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard.
The coordinates are still glowing on my phone.
An old barn on the Bellamy property.
Whythatbarn?
Whyourland?
The question needles me until I can’t sit still.
My father may have killed a man to keep a secret.
I’m starting to think that secret might still be buried on our land.
And now someone else—Reyes, of all people—wants it burned.
Whatever’s in that building, it’s not just old lumber.
It’s history.It’s guilt.It’s truth.
And I’m going to find out what it is.
