“Daniel said the source was too small. Said we needed to leave enough water moving through the lower meadow.”
Eli looked toward the photograph.
“Was he right?”
Hank gave a sad little laugh.
“He was right about more things than I wanted to admit.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Sarah asked, “What does Victor want?”
Hank looked toward the window.
“I don't know everything.”
She waited.
He continued.
“But Prairie Gate's engineers knew about the old seep before they ever contacted me.”
Eli felt his stomach tighten.
Hank looked toward him.
“They studied the historic maps. They knew there was a shallow discharge area and an old collection system.”
Sarah stared.
“Then why offer us a price based on dry pasture?”
Hank lowered his eyes.
For a moment, he couldn't answer.
Then whispered, “Because they thought you didn't know what you had.”
The room went silent.
Eli looked toward Grandpa's notebook.
Then toward the photograph.
For weeks, he'd believed Hank was laughing because he thought the stones were foolish.
Now he understood something worse.
Hank had been laughing because he wanted Eli to stop.
And the land company had been counting on the same thing.
Sarah took a breath.
“Will you tell our attorney everything you know?”
Hank hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked toward Eli.
His eyes were wet.
“And if you'll let me, I'd like to show you where your grandfather and I put the old line.”
Eli studied him.
For a moment, he remembered every insult.
Then he looked toward the photograph again.
He didn't trust Hank completely.
Not yet.
But he wanted to understand Grandpa's work.
So he nodded.
“Okay.”
Hank exhaled.
Then whispered, “Thank you.”
The next discovery came not from the seep itself, but from a letter Daniel Mercer had written shortly before his death.
Sarah found it tucked inside a farm ledger beneath a list of maintenance expenses.
The envelope was addressed to her.
It had never been mailed.
The paper was folded carefully, as though Daniel intended to give it to her in person when he