Chapter 4 - The Brother in Carrick
Jonah Torne had become everything Corvin despised about Carrick.
Polished boots.
Pressed shirts.
A walnut desk imported from St. Louis.
A brass plate outside his law office reading:
JONAH E. TORNE — ATTORNEY & LAND COUNSEL
Corvin entered without knocking.
Jonah looked up from a contract.
He was forty-one, seven years older than Corvin, with Helena's gray eyes and Gideon's talent for hiding emotion.
"Corvin."
"Where's the second ledger?"
Jonah's pen stopped.
That was enough.
Corvin shut the door.
"Everyone in this family has the same problem."
"And what's that?"
"You all answer questions with your faces before your mouths."
Jonah leaned back.
"How much do you know?"
"Enough to know Vane forged my signature."
Jonah's composure fractured.
"Show me."
Corvin threw a copy onto the desk.
Jonah studied it.
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
Corvin grabbed the desk edge.
"What wasn't supposed to happen?"
Jonah stood.
"Keep your voice down."
"No."
"Corvin—"
"Did you help him?"
Jonah looked at the closed door.
"I prepared a preliminary option six months ago."
Corvin felt sick.
"You did what?"
"An option. Not a sale."
"On my ranch?"
"You were drowning in debt."
"My debt."
"And Gideon believed—"
"Gideon doesn't own me."
"No, but he kept you solvent."
Corvin shoved the contract toward Jonah.
"Is this based on your paperwork?"
Jonah examined the clauses.
Some were familiar.
Others clearly were not.
"I drafted language concerning rail access and limited mineral exploration."
"Limited?"
Jonah pointed to a paragraph.
"This version transfers everything. Water, minerals, grazing, structures. I never wrote that."
"But my signature?"
Jonah stared at it.
"I don't know."
Corvin almost believed him.
Almost.
"What did Uncle mean by second ledger?"
Jonah moved to the window.
Outside, Carrick continued as if nothing had changed. Wagons creaked past. A woman crossed the street carrying flour. Two children chased a dog.
"You shouldn't have come here."
"Why?"
"Because Vane has people watching."
"That used to sound paranoid."
"It isn't."
Jonah opened a cabinet and removed a bottle.
He poured whiskey.
Corvin refused the glass.
Jonah drank both.
"Mother kept two sets of records," he said. "One was personal. The one you have. The other documented cattle payments, land purchases, survey expenses, bribes—"
"Bribes?"
Jonah looked at him.
"Father and Gideon were doing business in a territory where half the land records were unclear and the other half could be changed for twenty dollars."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
"Uncle thinks you do."
"I knew where it was."
Corvin waited.
Jonah sat.
"When Mother became sick, she gave it to me."
Corvin stared.
"You were nineteen."
"She trusted me."
"Apparently more than me."
"You were thirteen when she started hiding records."
"Where is it now?"
Jonah looked ashamed.
"I gave it to Gideon."
Corvin stepped back.
"Why?"
"Because Father was drinking, creditors were circling, and Gideon told me the ledger contained transactions that could destroy the ranch."
"Did it?"
"I never read all of it."
"Convenient."
"I was twenty-two and terrified."
"So you gave him the evidence."
"Yes."
The word carried twenty years of guilt.
Corvin's anger cooled just enough to become something worse.
Understanding.
"What was Mother afraid of?"
Jonah answered slowly.
"That Gideon and Vane's father were buying land through dummy claims."
Corvin knew the practice. Men filed homestead claims using employees, relatives, sometimes imaginary settlers, then transferred the parcels into larger companies.
"Black Ridge?"
"Among other places."
"Apache land?"
"Land everyone claimed and nobody could prove."
"Mara has a document with a territorial seal."
Jonah turned sharply.
"Who's Mara?"
Corvin explained the woman, the box, the riders.
Jonah went pale.
"You brought the box to the ranch?"
"They brought it."
"Then Vane will come for it."
"He already did."
Jonah crossed the room and locked the office door.
"Listen carefully. Silas Vane isn't the whole problem."
"Who is?"
Jonah lowered his voice.
"The Carrick Development Association."
Corvin frowned.
"That charity committee?"
Jonah almost smiled.
"That's what they call it publicly. Vane, Judge Bell, Sheriff Rourke, three mining investors, two cattle operators—and Gideon."
"What do they do?"
"Control land before the railway reaches it."
Corvin's stomach tightened.
"And you?"
Jonah did not answer.
Corvin's face changed.
"You're part of it."
"I represented them."
"You represented them."
"I didn't know how far it went."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true."
"You signed papers."
"Yes."
"You moved claims."
"Yes."
"You helped them take land."
Jonah slammed his hand down.
"I thought I was protecting ours!"
Silence.
There it was again.
The family excuse.
Survival.
Corvin turned toward the door.
Jonah caught his arm.
"Wait."
Corvin looked down at his hand.
Jonah released him.
"There's something else."
He opened a locked drawer.
Inside lay a torn envelope.
The return address belonged to a records office in Tucson.
"Three months ago I requested copies of every filing involving Torne Ranch."
"Why?"
"Because Vane asked me to prepare the option and something felt wrong."
He pulled out a document.
A mortgage assignment.
Corvin read it.
His eleven-thousand-eight-hundred-dollar debt had been transferred six months earlier.
Not to Vane's bank.
To a private company.
RED MESA HOLDINGS.
"Who owns it?"
Jonah shook his head.
"That's what I couldn't learn."
Corvin turned the page.
There were three directors.
Two names he did not recognize.
The third made his blood turn cold.
JONAH ELIAS TORNE.
Corvin looked up.
Jonah's face had gone white.
"I never formed that company."
Corvin whispered, "Your signature?"
Jonah examined it.
Perfect.
Just like Corvin's.
Two brothers.
Two forged signatures.
One ranch.
Then someone fired a shot through Jonah's office window.
The bullet struck the wall between them.
Jonah dropped.
Corvin pulled him behind the desk.
Outside, a horse galloped away.
Jonah stared at the hole in the plaster.
Corvin looked at his brother.
"You were right."
"About what?"
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Corvin drew his revolver.
"Someone's watching."
