threaten.
I didn’t shove anyone off my property.
I didn’t touch her fake contract.
I didn’t call Facebook.
I didn’t call the television station.
I called three people.
First, Rachel Collins.
My lawyer.
Second, Deputy Sheriff Ben Holloway, whom I had known since high school.
Third, Tyler Grant.
Tyler answered on the second ring.
“You back?”
“Yep.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Mean enough to complain about hospital coffee, so she’ll survive.”
He laughed.
Then I said, “Fuel the Case.”
Silence.
“Our corn’s still at twenty percent.”
“Check it again.”
“You thinking north field?”
“Every acre.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
There was another pause.
Tyler knew me well enough not to ask whether I was sure.
“Okay.”
Then I added, “Bring the grain cart.”
Behind me, Trish was already calling someone.
Her voice carried across the lane.
“We need an emergency injunction.”
I almost admired the confidence.
Almost.
For generations, my family had made
