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"Please do." Silas sat back, the slightest smile playing on his lips.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in as the gravity of the situation anchored itself in Rachel's stomach. She then reached under the table and pulled out the two items the desk sergeant had left in the room for them.
They thumped on the table and discarded dust.
Silas' boots.
Rachel's fingers traced the outline of the silver insignia on the heel of the dusty boots, her touch almost reverent. With a swift motion, she shoved them onto the cold metal table between herself and Silas. The symbol—a pickaxe crossed with a miner’s pan—gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Recognize these?" Rachel's voice was low, controlled, but thrummed with an undercurrent of excitement.
Silas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the sight. "My boots," he stated, his gaze flicking up to meet hers.
"More than that," she pressed. She then turned her phone, showing the security footage from Wyatt's phone of the man who'd stolen his ATV. "Rodeo rider. Same boots," she said simply.
Silas leaned in, then snorted. "That ain't no rodeo rider. Amateur."
"Oh? He's about your build, isn't he? And those are your boots?"
"Nah. He's trying to act like he's a rider. Probably knew the camera was there. And those boots? A bunch of people have 'em. Especially around these parts."
"So you're denying this is you?"
"Hell yeah. Not me."
Rachel paused, glanced at Ethan, and he shrugged back at her.
"This symbol." She pointed at the emblem embedded in the rugged leather. "It's not just for show, is it?"
"Means something to those who know the lore." Silas’s voice held a hint of pride.
"Tell me." Her command was soft but carried weight. Rachel watched as a spark ignited behind his bruised façade—a storyteller coming alive before her eyes.
"It's been said," Silas began, his tone shifting to one of a man entranced by his own tale, "those who wear this mark carry the legacy of the town's old miners. Seekers of the lost gold. It's a special mark. Lucky, they say."
"Who's they? The greeting card companies?"
He scowled at her. "Don't believe me? Fine. But a bunch of old-timers wear these boots. That poser on your video could be anyone."
She pondered the tales, the gold fever that seemed to grip men like Silas, driving them to extremes. Was there truth buried within the legend?
"How many people know about this hidden treasure?" she said.
Silas leaned back, a glimmer of apprehension flickering in his eyes. "Hard to say for sure. It's a secret that's passed down. Could be a few. But none of them will find it."
"Because you're going to?"
He smirked at her, and she realized he had a golden tooth.
Rachel exchanged a knowing glance with Ethan. They both understood the power that buried secrets held over a person's soul. It was as if the weight of unspoken truths had woven itself into the very fabric of this man's self.
"Silas, we need your help," Ethan said, his voice laced with urgency. "If this legend is real, if there's gold out there waiting to be found, then there's bound to be some dangerous characters sniffing around. Any idea who those might be?"
A flicker of fear crossed Silas' face, but he quickly composed himself. "You think I'm involved in all this? That I had something to do with stealing that ATV?"
"We're not ruling anything out," Rachel replied, her gaze fixed on Silas. "But we're also open to the possibility that you're just caught up in something bigger than yourself."
Silas clenched his jaw, staring at the boots on the table. "I've spent half my life searching for that treasure," he confessed quietly. "But I never thought anyone else would take it upon themselves to go after it."
