Chapter 13 - Gideon's Last Account

The bullet struck Gideon below the shoulder.

He lived.

Barely.

Rebecca converted the schoolroom into a makeshift infirmary while a doctor dug out the slug.

Outside, Carrick boiled with rumor.

Voss escaped.

Rourke remained missing.

Vane denied ordering the shooting.

For once, Corvin believed him.

Gideon woke near midnight.

Corvin sat beside him.

"You always were difficult to kill."

Gideon managed a weak smile.

"Disappointed?"

"Frequently."

Gideon looked toward the window.

"Jonah?"

"Outside."

"Mara?"

"With Pike."

Gideon breathed shallowly.

"Listen carefully."

Corvin leaned closer.

"The trust money passed through seven companies. Red Mesa Holdings is the last."

"Who owns it?"

"On paper? You and Jonah."

"Forgery."

"Yes."

"Who really controls it?"

Gideon closed his eyes.

"I thought Vane."

Corvin waited.

"But?"

"Three months ago I discovered payments Vane didn't know about."

"To whom?"

"Bell. Rourke. Voss."

"From Red Mesa?"

Gideon nodded.

"Authorized by initials."

"What initials?"

"E.T."

Corvin frowned.

"Elias Torne?"

"Dead too long."

"Who else?"

Gideon looked ashamed.

"Edmund Torne."

Corvin's chest tightened.

His grandfather.

Dead twenty-six years.

"Impossible."

"Unless someone is using an old identity."

Corvin thought.

"Who has access to family records?"

Jonah entered.

"Anyone in my office."

Corvin looked at him.

Jonah understood.

"My clerk?"

"Who?"

"Martin Vale."

Gideon shook his head.

"Too young."

"Who hired him?"

Jonah frowned.

"You did."

"No."

Gideon stared.

"I recommended a clerk named Martin Hale."

Silence.

Jonah whispered, "His employment letter said Vale."

Corvin stood.

"Where is he?"

Jonah went pale.

"He has keys to my office."

They rode there immediately.

The office had been emptied.

Not ransacked.

Emptied methodically.

Files gone.

Safe open.

Account books missing.

On Jonah's desk lay a photograph.

Old.

Faded.

Three young men stood beside a freight wagon.

Elias Torne.

Gideon Torne.

Silas Vane's father.

A fourth figure stood partly turned away.

On the back someone had written:

EDMUND'S BOY.

Jonah frowned.

"Grandfather had another son?"

Corvin's stomach tightened.

Not another lost-child twist, he told himself instinctively, but history rarely respected dramatic convenience.

Gideon later clarified.

Edmund Torne had no secret child.

"Boy" was what ranchers called young employees.

The man was Wesley Vale.

Their grandfather's bookkeeper.

Wesley had been convicted of embezzlement and disappeared after serving six years.

Martin Vale was his grandson.

Motive emerged.

Wesley claimed the Tornes framed him for transactions Gideon and Vane's father ordered.

Martin had spent years collecting evidence.

"So he's exposing them?" Corvin asked.

Gideon shook his head.

"Not exposing. Replacing."

Martin had learned how the original land network worked.

Rather than reveal the scheme, he rebuilt it under Red Mesa Holdings, forging signatures and moving debts until he controlled the company from behind nominee directors.

Vane thought he controlled Red Mesa.

Bell thought Vane did.

Gideon thought Vane did.

Martin controlled all of them by feeding each only part of the truth.

Corvin felt almost impressed.

"Why Black Ridge?"

"Because once title consolidated, Martin could sell the entire operation to an eastern syndicate."

"How much?"

"At least two million."

Jonah sat down.

Two million dollars was beyond fortune in their world.

It was power.

Mara entered carrying another discovery.

One of her riders had caught a messenger heading north.

The man carried a telegram drafted but not yet sent.

TO HAWTHORNE CAPITAL, DENVER

TITLE SECURED. LOCAL RESISTANCE WILL BE RESOLVED WITHIN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS. PREPARE FINAL TRANSFER.

Signed:

M. VALE

Corvin stared.

Forty-eight hours.

Monday.

The supposed court hearing.

Jonah looked at him.

"Bell's hearing isn't meant to decide ownership."

Corvin understood.

"It's meant to certify it."

Mara added, "Then we do not need to convince Bell."

"What do we do?"

"We make sure the buyer learns the truth before Monday."

Corvin looked north.

The temporary railway telegraph station.

Sixty miles.

Voss would expect them.

Rourke might already be waiting.

Corvin picked up his hat.

"Then we ride faster."

Behind him, Gideon's weak voice came from the doorway.

"No."

Everyone turned.

Bandaged and barely standing, Gideon held out a brass key.

"You'll never beat Voss on the north road."

Corvin took the key.

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"What is this?"

Gideon whispered, "Your mother's way out."