Chapter 7: The Wrong Field
Chapter 7: The Wrong Field
Nathan stared at the photograph for several seconds.
It had been taken through the attic window.
Someone had been close enough to capture him opening his father's hidden compartment, yet he had never heard a sound.
Emily looked over his shoulder.
"Who took that?"
"I don't know."
Nathan turned the photo over again.
The message was still there.
You're looking in the wrong field.
June adjusted her glasses and studied the handwriting.
"I've seen those letters before."
Nathan looked at her.
"You recognize the writing?"
She nodded slowly.
"Not the person... the style."
"What do you mean?"
"Your father used to receive anonymous notes."
Nathan frowned.
"Anonymous notes?"
She closed her eyes, searching her memory.
"They always used thick black marker."
"What did they say?"
"'Sell the land.'"
Nathan's heartbeat quickened.
"When was this?"
"Years ago."
"Before Dad died?"
"About a year before."
Nathan exchanged a glance with Emily.
Someone had been trying to pressure his father long before Carl became involved.
Nathan slipped the photograph into a plastic evidence sleeve.
"I'm not changing course because of one anonymous message."
Emily nodded.
"What if it's a trap?"
"It probably is."
Nathan smiled faintly.
"But traps tell you something."
"What?"
"They tell you what your enemy doesn't want you to find."
The next morning, Nathan drove to the north field with a shovel, a metal detector borrowed from Mr. Whitaker, and his father's hand-drawn map.
The old oak tree still stood near the northern fence line.
Its massive branches stretched across the pasture exactly as Nathan remembered from childhood.
He unfolded the map.
His father had drawn a small X approximately twenty feet east of the tree.
Nathan paced the distance.
Twenty steps.
He stopped.
The metal detector gave no response.
He swept the area again.
Still nothing.
He frowned.
Either the map was inaccurate...
Or whatever had been buried there was no longer metal.
Nathan looked around.
The ground appeared unusually flat.
Too flat.
As if someone had disturbed it years ago.
He knelt and dug into the soil.
Only a few inches below the surface, his shovel struck something solid.
Wood.
Carefully brushing away the dirt, Nathan uncovered the corner of an old cedar box.
His pulse quickened.
He lifted it free.
The box measured about eighteen inches long.
Its brass lock had rusted away decades earlier.
Nathan slowly opened the lid.
Inside were oilcloth bundles wrapped to protect them from moisture.
The first bundle contained yellowed documents.
The second held several black-and-white photographs.
The third...
Nathan stared.
Cash.
Old currency.
Thousands of dollars.
Alongside it rested a small leather notebook.
His father's initials—
J.R.
—were stamped into the cover.
Nathan opened the notebook.
The first page was dated twenty-one years earlier.
The handwriting was unmistakably his father's.
If you're reading this, I failed to protect our family.
Nathan swallowed hard.
He continued reading.
Someone discovered what lies beneath the Reed property.
They think it's worth millions.
Nathan frowned.
What could possibly be beneath farmland?
He turned another page.
I made copies of every agreement and every survey.
Never trust anyone who says the land is only valuable because of development.
Nathan carefully removed the folded papers tucked inside the notebook.
They were geological surveys.
Some carried official state seals.
Others were handwritten notes.
Nathan didn't fully understand the technical language, but one phrase appeared repeatedly.
Rare earth mineral deposits.
His eyes widened.
Rare earth minerals.
The materials used in advanced electronics, batteries, defense systems, and renewable energy technologies.
No wonder developers wanted the land.
No wonder his grandfather had refused to sell.
No wonder his father had hidden the truth.
The Reed farm wasn't valuable because of a highway.
It sat above something far more valuable.
Nathan quickly repacked everything.
Just as he closed the cedar box, he heard an engine approaching.
A black SUV stopped beside the fence.
Richard Holloway stepped out.
This time he wasn't smiling.
"I was wondering how long it would take."
Nathan stood.
"You've been following me."
"I've been protecting an investment."
Nathan kept one hand on the cedar box.
"You knew about this."
Holloway glanced toward the oak tree.
"We've known for years."
Nathan's voice remained calm.
"So that's why you wanted June declared incompetent."
"It would've made the purchase easier."
"You never wanted farmland."
"We wanted what was underneath it."
Nathan nodded slowly.
"I figured that out."
Holloway sighed.
"Mr. Reed..."
He took a step closer.
"...let's stop pretending this is about your mother."
Nathan's eyes hardened.
"It has always been about my mother."
"No."
Holloway shook his head.
"It's about money."
Nathan laughed quietly.
"If it were about money, I would've sold the land the day I got here."
Holloway didn't answer.
Nathan continued.
"For nine years I worked twelve-hour shifts in Alaska."
"In miserable weather."
"Far from everyone I loved."
"I didn't do it to become rich."
"I did it because my mother deserved better."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Holloway said,
"Name your price."
Nathan closed the cedar box.
"My answer is no."
Holloway's expression turned cold.
"You haven't read everything yet."
"What does that mean?"
"The notebook isn't complete."
Nathan frowned.
"There are missing pages."
Holloway nodded toward the box.
"Your father removed them before he died."
Nathan's pulse quickened.
"You know where they are."
"I might."
"What do you want?"
"The box."
Nathan smiled for the first time.
"So the missing pages matter."
Holloway realized he had revealed too much.
He turned toward his SUV.
"You've inherited more trouble than you understand."
Before climbing inside, he added one final sentence.
"If I were you..."
He looked directly at Nathan.
"...I'd start asking how your father really died."
The SUV disappeared down the gravel road.
Nathan remained standing beneath the old oak tree.
The words echoed in his mind.
How your father really died.
That afternoon, Nathan drove straight to the county archives.
He requested every public record relating to his father's fatal logging accident.
The elderly archivist disappeared into a back room.
Several minutes later she returned carrying a dusty evidence box.
"This hasn't been opened in years."
Nathan signed the request form.
Inside the box were photographs from the accident scene.
Witness statements.
The coroner's report.
Insurance documents.
Everything looked routine.
Until he reached the final page.
Attached with a rusted paperclip was a handwritten note that had never been entered into the official report.
It read:
Witness reported seeing a black sedan leaving the logging site approximately fifteen minutes before emergency responders arrived.
No follow-up investigation.
No interview.
No explanation.
Nathan stared at the note.
His father had supposedly been working alone that morning.
So why had someone else been there?
As he carefully returned the documents to the box, another folder slipped loose and landed on the table.
Across the tab, in faded ink, was a familiar name.
Victor Sloan.
Nathan frowned.
Why would the convicted forger's name appear in a file connected to his father's death?
He opened the folder.
The first document made his heart skip a beat.
Twenty-one years earlier...
Victor Sloan had been questioned by state investigators.
May you like
Not for forgery.
For being present less than two miles from the Reed logging site on the morning Nathan's father died.
