Interest reduced.
Term extended.
Garrick signed the new note with his own lawyer reviewing.
Nola insisted.
He looked at her.
“You distrust everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Healthy.”
“Recently proven.”
He signed.
Hollow Creek remained theirs.
The criminal case took nearly a year.
Wren eventually cooperated.
Garrick hated that most.
The doctor admitted Crow had paid him to worsen Mae’s condition gradually, not necessarily kill her quickly.
Enough weakness to force Garrick into debt.
Enough medical cost to destabilize the ranch.
Enough fear to make a sale appear rational.
Mae had become sicker than Wren expected.
By the time he realized the accumulation was dangerous, stopping abruptly might have raised questions.
So he continued.
That sentence nearly destroyed Garrick.
Nola sat beside him in the courtroom when it was read.
His hand trembled.
She covered it with hers.
He did not pull away.
Crow had ordered Weston dosed only after realizing Garrick still refused to sell.
Not because the boy mattered personally.
Because a sick child created desperation.
That was the detail Nola hated most.
Not hatred.
Arithmetic.
Crow counted suffering like money.
Exactly as Mae had said.
The trial ended with convictions across fraud, conspiracy, bribery, and poisoning-related charges.
The legal language became complicated.
The result was not.
Crow lost his empire.
Pike lost his badge and freedom.
Wren received a lesser sentence for cooperation but never practiced medicine again.
Garrick wanted more.
Nola understood.
Then several other families came forward because Wren testified.
Two suspicious illnesses were reinvestigated.
One land transfer overturned.
An elderly widow recovered property Crow had taken through fraud.
Nola told Garrick:
“That is what his testimony bought.”
Garrick stared.
“Still hate him.”
“You can.”
“Good.”
“Forgiveness is not a court requirement.”
He smiled.
Another truth.
Nola’s contract ended after harvest.
She packed on a cold October morning.
Everything she owned still fit inside one bag.
Almost.
Clara had given her a ribbon.
Eli a carved wooden horse.
Weston a smooth rock he insisted was worth “at least one dollar.”
Nola packed all three.
She folded her second blouse.
Then heard someone in the doorway.
Garrick.
He leaned against the frame.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the bag.
“Why?”
Nola stared.
“My contract ended.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She stopped folding.
“What are you asking?”
He looked suddenly uncomfortable.
Good.
He deserved some.
“You could stay.”
“As what?”
“Here.”
“That is geography.”
“Nola.”
“No.”
She turned toward him.
“You hired a housekeeper.”
“I became nurse.”
“Bookkeeper.”
“Investigator.”
“Farm adviser.”
“Occasional restraining device when you attempted murder.”
He almost smiled.
She continued:
“Now the crisis is over.”