Page 180 of Tessa and Nash

“And what would that be?” I ask carefully.

“The McCoys knew,” he says with quiet certainty. “They’ve had lawyers and surveyors crawling around that ranch for years. No way they didn’t realize they were pushing onto Long land.”

Behind him, another voice joins the conversation. “That’s not true.”

Clara Jenkins appears in the doorway carrying a bakery box under one arm for the Mayor, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“The McCoys built that ranch fair and square,” she says. “Everyone knows the Longs have been waiting decades to take something back.”

Virgil snorts. “That land was always theirs.”

Clara shakes her head. “If it was, why didn’t anyone say anything before now?”

Their voices bounce off the office walls, each statement delivered with absolute conviction.

I close the file slowly.

“Neither of you are entirely correct,” I say.

They both look at me.

Virgil folds his arms. “Alright then, Tessa. What’s the truth?”

It is the same question I have answered a dozen times this week.

“The truth,” I say carefully, “is that land disputes rarely unfold in a straight line. Families make informal agreements, survey markers shift over time, and records from fifty years ago often leave out the details people assumed everyone already understood.”

Virgil frowns slightly. “So the McCoys didn’t know?”

“I’m saying,” I reply, choosing each word with care, “that it’s entirely possible they believed the land was theirs.”

Clara tilts her head. “But the Longs were wronged?”

“Possibly,” I say.

Virgil looks dissatisfied. “That sounds like a lawyer’s answer.”

“It’s a historian’s answer.”

Neither of them seems particularly comforted by that.

Virgil shrugs. “Well, folks around town have already made up their minds.”

“I’m aware.”

Clara shifts the bakery box in her hands.

“Still,” she adds gently, “it must be nice knowing the truth is finally coming out for your family.”

I hold her gaze. “It isn’t that simple.”

She smiles politely, the kind of smile people use when they intend to disagree without arguing.

“Well,” she says, “people are talking.”

Of course they are.

Virgil tips his hat before stepping away from the door. “Night, Tessa.”