"Put down the cane."
Ashcroft glanced at her.
"Another Whitmore sister."
She raised her revolver.
"The one with the worst temper."
The older man looked amused.
"Clearly."
Daniel moved closer.
"It's over, Edward."
Ashcroft shook his head.
"No."
"Voss is under arrest."
A flicker of surprise crossed Ashcroft's face.
"Caleb?"
"Yes."
"And the ledger?"
"Recovered."
For the first time, the older man's composure cracked.
He looked toward the stairs.
Then toward the burning room.
Daniel continued.
"The documents are in Denver. The town knows what you've done. Your men are either running or surrendering."
Ashcroft's jaw tightened.
"Then you leave me no choice."
He struck the floor sharply with his cane.
A hidden blade slid from its silver tip.
Rachel gasped.
Ashcroft lunged.
Daniel fired.
The bullet struck the cane, knocking it from Ashcroft's hand.
The older man stumbled.
Then he grabbed Abigail by the arm and pulled her upright.
He drew a small pistol from inside his coat and pressed it against her side.
Daniel froze.
Rachel raised her weapon.
Ashcroft smiled.
"Now."
He pulled Abigail closer.
"Let's discuss surrender."
Daniel's heart pounded.
"Let her go."
Ashcroft shook his head.
"Not yet."
Abigail stood very still.
She could feel the pistol against her ribs.
She looked at Daniel.
His face was pale.
His wounded shoulder had begun bleeding through the bandage.
But his eyes remained fixed on hers.
Ashcroft stepped backward toward the staircase.
"You will lower your weapons."
Daniel did not move.
"Now!"
Rachel glanced toward Daniel.
He slowly lowered his revolver.
Rachel did the same.
Ashcroft smiled.
"Very good."
He began moving toward the stairs.
Abigail stumbled.
He tightened his grip.
"Walk."
She obeyed.
But as they reached the landing, she noticed something.
The silver-tipped cane lay on the floor beside the wall.
The hidden blade had snapped off when Daniel's bullet struck it.
A sharp piece of metal protruded from the broken handle.
Abigail looked toward Daniel.
He saw her glance.
Then he looked at the cane.
Understanding passed between them.
Ashcroft did not notice.
He was watching Rachel.
"Move aside."
Rachel stepped back.
Abigail took another step.
Then she stumbled deliberately.
Ashcroft tightened his grip.
"What are you doing?"
"My ankle."
"Keep moving."
She bent slightly.
Her fingers brushed the broken cane.
Then she seized it.
Ashcroft looked down.
Too late.
Abigail drove the broken handle against his wrist.
He screamed.
The pistol fell.
Daniel lunged forward.
He struck Ashcroft hard across the jaw.
The older man staggered backward.
Rachel kicked the pistol away.
Ashcroft fell against the stair railing.
For one terrible moment, he teetered above the open staircase.
Daniel grabbed his coat.
The railing cracked.
Ashcroft stared at him.
"Let me go."
Daniel held him.
The older man's eyes widened.
"Daniel!"
For five years, Daniel had dreamed of watching this man die.
He had imagined the satisfaction.
The relief.
The silence that might finally follow.
Now he held Ashcroft above a fall that would almost certainly kill him.
One small movement would end everything.
He looked into the man's frightened eyes.
Then he thought of Eleanor.
Not the way she died.
But the way she lived.
Her laughter.
Her kindness.
Her stubborn belief that people were capable of doing better.
Daniel tightened his grip.
Then pulled Ashcroft back onto solid ground.
The older man collapsed.
Rachel stared.
"Why?"
Daniel stood over him.
His breathing was ragged.
"Because he doesn't get to escape judgment that easily."
Ashcroft looked up.
For the first time, there was no arrogance in his face.
Only fear.
Daniel pointed his revolver at him.
"Edward Ashcroft, you're going to stand before a court."
He paused.
"And you're going to hear every name of every family you destroyed."
Behind them, smoke began filling the corridor.
Rachel coughed.
"We need to go."
Daniel nodded.
He seized Ashcroft's collar.
"Get up."
The older man struggled to stand.
Abigail moved beside Daniel.
Her cheek was swollen.
Her eyes were wet.
But she was smiling.
"You came back."
Daniel looked at her.
"I promised."
She touched his uninjured arm.
"You're bleeding."
He glanced down.
"Apparently."
Abigail shook her head.
"One day, Daniel Mercer, you're going to learn to stop getting shot."
He smiled faintly.
"I'll put it on my list."
Together, they descended the stairs.
Behind them, the western wing of Ashcroft House burned.
And outside, the people of Silver Creek waited to see whether justice would finally walk through the front doors.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE DAY THE COUNTY STOOD TOGETHER
When Daniel Mercer emerged from Ashcroft House with Edward Ashcroft in custody, the crowd fell silent.
Hundreds of people stood beyond the iron gates.
Farmers with weathered faces.
Women carrying children.
Railroad workers in dusty coats.
Miners who had spent years breathing dangerous air beneath the mountains.
Widows whose husbands had died in accidents that were never properly investigated.
Families who had lost their homes.
Men and women who had been told, again and again, that they had no power.
Now they watched as the man who had controlled their county for two decades descended the front steps with his hands bound.
Edward Ashcroft looked smaller than they expected.
Without his expensive cane and polished confidence, he was simply an aging man in a smoke-stained coat.
His silver hair had come loose.
His face was bruised.
And his eyes moved nervously across the crowd.
Sheriff Crowe stood beside Daniel.
Caleb Voss had been brought from the cellar and placed under guard near the carriage house.
The leather ledger rested inside a locked metal box.
Benjamin Carter stood at the front of the crowd, holding a notebook.
He had spent the morning recording names.
Witnesses.
Victims.
Families willing to testify.
And now he watched the two most powerful men in Silver Creek being led toward the gates.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Margaret Henderson stepped forward.
She was carrying a small framed photograph of her husband.
Her hands trembled.
She stopped ten feet from Ashcroft.
"Do you remember Henry Henderson?"
Ashcroft stared at her.
He said nothing.
Margaret lifted the photograph.
"He owned a farm east of town."
Still silence.
"Forty-eight acres. Good soil. A little orchard. A house he built himself."
Ashcroft looked away.
Margaret's voice strengthened.
"You took it."
He said nothing.
"You said he owed money."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He didn't."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Margaret stepped closer.