Margaret nodded.
“She knew enough.”
Price’s attorneys arrived that afternoon.
Three men.
Expensive coats.
Polished boots.
Expressions of solemn superiority.
Gideon Price did not come with them.
Cowardice wore many forms.
The lead attorney introduced himself as Samuel Dyer.
He looked at Clara’s body only once.
One quick glance.
Then he smiled.
“Miss Whitfield.”
“Mrs. Boone?”
Clara almost choked.
Silas, beside her, went rigid.
Clara recovered first.
“Miss Whitfield.”
“For now.”
Silas turned toward her.
She ignored him.
Dyer continued.
“My apologies.”
“I had been informed Mr. Boone was acting as your husband.”
“Then whoever informed you enjoys fiction.”
A deputy near the door coughed to hide a laugh.
Dyer sat.
“We would like to resolve this without further embarrassment.”
Clara smiled faintly.
“Whose?”
His expression changed.
“Pardon?”
“You said further embarrassment.”
“Mine?”
“Mr. Price’s?”
“The county’s?”
“Be specific.”
Silas looked at the table.
Margaret hid a smile.
Dyer reorganized papers.
“Mr. Price is prepared to withdraw any objection to your inheritance.”
“How generous.”
“In exchange, you would grant his company a ninety-nine-year exclusive commercial lease over the lower watershed.”
Clara stared.
“That sounds remarkably similar to giving him the property.”
“No.”
“You would retain title.”
“While he controls water.”
“He would develop infrastructure.”
“Sell access?”
“Manage distribution.”
Clara looked toward Margaret.
“Is that lawyer language for yes?”
“Yes.”
Dyer frowned.
Margaret shrugged.
Clara turned back.
“No.”
He blinked.
“You haven't heard the compensation.”
“I don't care.”
“One hundred twenty thousand dollars immediately.”
Clara’s heart jumped.
It was a staggering amount.
Enough to make her independently wealthy even without the ranch.
Dyer saw the reaction.
His confidence returned.
“Plus annual payments.”
Clara looked down at her hands.
Silas said nothing.
That mattered.
He did not warn her.
Did not tell her to reject.
He let the number exist.
Clara imagined Baltimore.
A townhouse.
Servants.
Travel.
Clothing made without compromise.
No mud.
No winter ranch management.
No men with guns after water.
One hundred twenty thousand dollars.
Then she remembered her mother’s journal.
Water should not belong entirely to whoever can pay most for thirst.
Eleanor had written that sentence after watching a ranch family lose cattle during drought because a private company diverted a creek.
Clara looked up.
“What happens to the smaller ranches downstream?”
Dyer hesitated.
“Existing users could negotiate.”
“With Price?”
“Yes.”
“Would rates increase?”
“Development costs—”
“Yes.”
“Likely.”