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Sonny, who’d dedicated his life to this ranch. Sonny, whose father had done the same. All the long days, the heavy loads, the grunt work. Sonny, who likely saw himself as a second son to my grandfather. Sonny, who knew this property as well as I did.

Sonny, who knew how to fix every kind of engine on the ranch. Sonny, who could easily have fucked with my father’s hobby plane once he knew my father would have inherited.

Sonny, who knew my grandfather had hired private investigators to track me down.

Sonny, who had access to the minerals, who might have been able to dig out enough to pay those investigators to become murderers.

Sonny… who had access to my sick grandfather, even.

Maybe I should have thought that was impossible. But ranch life was… violent sometimes. I’d seen him shoot wolves and bears without blinking. I’d seen him slaughter cows if he even suspected they were sick or injured.

We were all just animals, after all.

And, surely, it was easier to mess with an engine, hire a hitman, or give my grandfather too many pills than it was to physically get down in the dirt and kill a living creature.

He could have done it.

He could have done it all.

And the motivation was simple, wasn’t it?

He was stealing from the ranch.

For who knows how long.

For who knows how many millions of dollars.

If I came back, the ranch was no longer just sitting there, unused. There would be more testing and surveyors and offers to purchase the land.

So I had to die.

So did Denali.

Then he could disappear into the sunset, with no one the wiser that he’d taken the minerals with him.

“I deserve this. I deserved to get all of this,” Sonny said, that familiar voice of his gone bitter over the years. “But, no. That old bastard had to have his come to Jesus moment when he got sick. Needed to leave everything to you and that bastard of yours.”

If there was anything he could do to strip away my fear and replace it with anger, it was bringing my daughter into this.

“Did he actually die from his sickness, or did you kill him?” I asked as the gun pressed into my spine.

“He had a foot in the grave. I just gave him a nudge.”

“Why not wait it out?” The gun pressed harder. “He was onto you, wasn’t he?”

“I slipped up,” he admitted. “Said something about the plane I shouldn’t have. Had to act before he reported me.”

So he had done it all.

Some part of me wanted to believe it was all just some crazy, asinine story I’d come up with. But, no. He’d actually done it. All of it.

“And look how easy you made this last part for me,” he said. “Came right to me. Luckily, blood should wash off the rocks pretty easily. Walk,” he snarled, jamming the gun so hard into my back that the pain shot up my spine.

I didn’t have another weapon on me. And I knew better than to think I could outrun a gun being shot at me.

But in the crack in the earth in front of me, there were a lot of rocks. Sticking out of the walls. Scattered on the ground.

If I could just grab one…