“Leave,” he said.
Blackwood turned.
Cole’s voice was cold.
“You spoke to my wife.”
A pause.
“She answered.”
Another.
“Now leave.”
Blackwood looked between them.
Then smiled.
“I think this marriage will cost you more than expected.”
Cole answered without hesitation.
“Best thing I ever spent nothing on.”
Abigail looked at him.
Blackwood left.
The carriage disappeared down the road.
Only then did Cole turn.
“What did he mean about your father?”
Abigail stared after the carriage.
She had delayed too long.
She knew it.
The secret inside her trunk suddenly felt heavier than iron.
“Come inside.”
Abigail locked the kitchen door.
Cole sat at the table.
She went upstairs.
Returned with a narrow wooden box.
Not large.
Plain walnut.
Cole had seen it inside her trunk but never asked.
Abigail placed it on the table.
“My father died believing Blackwood killed him.”
Cole stared.
“What?”
“Not directly.”
She opened the box.
Inside were letters.
Receipts.
A brass key.
And beneath them, wrapped in oilskin, a thin black ledger.
Cole did not touch it.
Abigail sat.
“My father kept books for three grain firms before opening his own business.”
She ran a hand over the cover.
“Years ago, Blackwood hired him to review several delinquent accounts.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“My father found the same pattern I found in yours.”
“Missing payments.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he report it?”
“He tried.”
She looked down.
“The territorial auditor disappeared before the review.”
Cole went still.
“Disappeared?”
“His horse was found near the river.”
“No body.”
“No.”
Cole looked toward the ledger.
Abigail continued.
“My father became frightened.”
“That doesn’t sound like the man you described.”
“He had me.”
Her voice softened.
“My mother was already dead.”
She swallowed.
“He copied what he could.”
Cole looked at the oilskin.
“That?”
“Part.”
She opened it.
Numbers.
Names.
Ranch accounts.
Original payments.
Altered balances.
Notations.
Cole stared.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.”
His face changed.
“Twenty-three ranches?”
“Some already lost.”
Cole sat back.
“Christ.”
Abigail continued.
“My father began warning people quietly.”
“Then?”
“Blackwood destroyed him.”
“How?”
“Credit.”
She gave a bitter smile.
“He convinced suppliers my father was insolvent.”
Cole understood.
“Bank closed his lines.”
“Within weeks.”
She touched the ledger.
“Then came the grain dispute.”
“The one you solved at sixteen?”
“Yes.”
Cole stared.
“You were involved that far back?”
“Not Blackwood.”
She paused.
“Not knowingly.”