People who believed that when they paid their bills, their money went where it was supposed to go.
People who trusted their banks.
Walter felt anger rising inside him.
Not the loud anger of a young man looking for a fight.
Something colder.
Something that came from watching people work honestly for decades only to discover that someone had been stealing from them.
"Can we prove it?" he asked.
Tommy nodded.
"If we get the original transaction logs."
"Where?"
Mara answered.
"Blackridge's regional office."
Gabriel immediately shook his head.
"No."
Mara looked at him.
"I didn't say I was going."
"You don't need to."
"I know where the records are."
"That doesn't mean we're sending you back there."
She folded her arms.
"Gabriel, those records could save Ruth's house."
"And I am not risking your life."
Walter watched them.
He remembered Eleanor arguing with him about selling the orchard.
She had been determined to keep it.
He had been determined to protect her.
They had both been right.
Sometimes love made people stubborn.
Sometimes fear disguised itself as protection.
Walter cleared his throat.
"May I offer an observation?"
Gabriel turned.
"Please."
"Your wife is not a piece of furniture."
Mara almost smiled.
Gabriel sighed.
"I know that."
"Do you?"
The younger man looked down.
Walter continued.
"She has information. She understands the records. She has already risked herself to bring this matter to light."
He turned toward Mara.
"That doesn't mean you should do something reckless. But it does mean you deserve a say in what happens."
Mara nodded.
"Thank you."
Gabriel rubbed his forehead.
"Fine. We discuss it together."
Walter smiled.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
That afternoon, the first threat arrived.
It came in the form of an envelope placed beneath the farmhouse door.
No return address.
No stamp.
Just Walter's name written in black ink.
He opened it at the kitchen table.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed the farmhouse from the road.
The photograph had been taken the previous night.
Walter was visible through the kitchen window.
So was Mara.
On the back, someone had written:
SELL THE PROPERTY. STOP ASKING QUESTIONS. YOU HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE.
Walter read it twice.
Then he placed it on the table.
Gabriel took it.
His expression became dangerous.
"They were here."
"Apparently."
"They watched the house."
"Apparently."
"That means they know about the records."
Walter looked at him.
"Or they simply know that I haven't signed their papers."
Mara picked up the photograph.
Her fingers trembled.
"They're escalating."
Gabriel turned toward the riders outside.
"We need to increase security."
Walter shook his head.
"Not yet."
Gabriel looked at him.
"Sir—"
"I want this documented. I want the sheriff to see it. And I want copies made."
Doc nodded.
"He's right."
Gabriel exhaled.
"Fine."
Walter walked toward the telephone.
He called Sheriff Evelyn Carter.
She had served Cedar Hollow for twenty-three years and was known for her direct manner.
Walter explained the photograph.
She arrived within forty minutes.
After examining the envelope, she photographed it and asked several questions.
"Have you had previous threats?"
"Nothing this direct."
"Do you know who sent it?"
"No."
She looked toward Gabriel.
"Mr. Callahan."
"Sheriff."
"I understand your club has been involved in disputes with Blackridge."
Gabriel nodded.
"We've been trying to document what they're doing."
"Then I suggest you continue doing that without trespassing, threatening people, or interfering with my investigation."
Gabriel smiled faintly.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The sheriff looked unconvinced.
She turned to Walter.
"Mr. Briggs, I want you to call me if anyone approaches the property again."
"I will."
"And don't confront them."
Walter nodded.
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do it."
He smiled.
"Yes, ma'am."
After she left, Gabriel shook his head.
"She's not easily impressed."
"Good sheriff, then."
"She's suspicious of us."
"She's suspicious of everybody."
"True."
Walter looked at the photograph again.
"Gabriel?"
"Yes?"
"How long have you been president of the club?"
"Eleven years."
"And how long have you been fighting Blackridge?"
"Three months."
Walter nodded.
"Then you've been looking at the problem from the wrong direction."
Gabriel frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You're looking at the men who come to people's homes. You're looking at the trucks, the threats, the burned workshops."
"That's part of it."
"But those men aren't the ones changing bank accounts."
Gabriel became still.
Walter tapped the letter.
"The people doing this are sitting in offices. They're wearing expensive suits. They're signing documents. They're making telephone calls."
Mara slowly nodded.
"He's right."
Walter looked at Gabriel.
"You don't win against people like that by frightening them. You win by showing everybody exactly what they've done."
Tommy, who had been listening from the doorway, spoke.
"Then we need the original records."
Walter smiled.
"Now you're thinking."
Two days later, Walter received a telephone call from Cole Dempsey.