He had supplied timber, feed, equipment, and transportation services to military and civilian contractors for years.
His business interests extended across several settlements.
He knew officers.
He knew merchants.
He knew clerks whose wages were too small to make them immune to generous payments.
And he understood the difference between an official boundary and the practical power of the men sent to enforce it.
Ren sat on a wooden chair beside the freight station's rear wall.
Her wrists were no longer tied.
She had insisted upon using a cup of water and eating a little bread.
The men allowed it because Crane ordered that she remain unharmed.
They did not realize she had been observing the station carefully.
Two windows.
One rear storage door.
A narrow loft.
Three horses outside.
A broken ladder near the western wall.
And a small side passage through which cool air entered even when the main doors were closed.
Crane approached.
"Good afternoon."
Ren looked at him without answering.
He smiled.
"You're much more beautiful than the stories suggested."
She stared.
"Did you bring me here to discuss my face?"
His smile tightened.
"Sharp tongue."
"My hands are free. You may untie the rest of me whenever you are ready."
Crane laughed.
"I don't believe we've properly met."
"I know who you are."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Do you?"
"You're the man who keeps placing stakes in fields your surveyors refuse to admit my people use."
His expression changed.
Ren continued.
"You're also the man who offered my father money to arrange my marriage five years ago."
Crane leaned against the table.
"Your father told you that?"
"Not at the time."
She looked directly at him.
"But I learned."
He studied her with renewed interest.
"Then perhaps you understand why I'm here."
Ren folded her hands.
"You want the boundary records."
Crane smiled.
"Very good."
She felt a cold satisfaction.
He had confirmed it.
She continued.
"The papers Thomas Whitlock prepared."
His smile disappeared.
For a moment, his face became hard.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Ren looked toward the window.
"People remember those who try to do something decent."
Crane approached slowly.
"Your grandmother had a collection of documents."
Ren said nothing.
"Drawings. Boundary descriptions. Witness statements."
Still she remained silent.
Crane lowered his voice.
"I want them."
Ren looked up.
"And if I refuse?"
He gave a patient smile.
"Then your new husband will be forced to make a difficult decision."
She felt fear move through her.
But she kept her expression calm.
"What decision?"
"Whether a few old papers matter more than your life."
Ren stared.
For a moment, the room seemed to become very still.
Then she said quietly, "You don't know him."
Crane smiled.
"I know enough about men."
"No."
She shook her head.
"You know about bargains."
He frowned.
Ren continued.
"You know how to threaten people until they surrender something they love."