Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO CONVINCE ME
Travis sat down slowly.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at the list.
“Use Travis for what?”
He swallowed.
“To make you believe signing was your idea.”
I felt something inside me crack.
“How?”
“They knew you trusted me.”
“I did.”
“I was supposed to tell you the transfer was harmless.”
“You did.”
“I was supposed to make you feel guilty.”
“You did that too.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I was wrong.”
I wanted to walk away.
Instead, I stayed.
“Why?”
He looked at Darcy.
Then at me.
“Because Brock promised to refinance our house.”
My anger didn't disappear.
But now I understood.
Travis had debts.
He had hidden them from me.
Medical bills from his mother's care.
A failed business investment.
Credit cards.
He had been drowning.
Brock offered to clear everything if Travis helped persuade me.
“You sold me for a mortgage.”
“I know.”
“And you stood beside Darcy when she pushed me.”
“I was afraid.”
“So was I.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
For once, I believed him.
Not because his excuse was good.
Because he finally wasn't trying to make himself look innocent.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“I recorded Brock.”
The room went quiet.
“Why?”
“Because I knew I was going too far.”
He played the recording.
Brock's voice filled the room.
“Cassidy will sign eventually.”
Travis asked:
“What if she doesn't?”
Brock laughed.
“Then we make her the villain.”
“How?”
“Family pressure.”
“And if that fails?”
A pause.
“Her husband.”
I felt sick.
Then Brock said:
“She's an officer. She hates disappointing people. Make her think the family will suffer because of her.”
The recording ended.
There was silence.
Norville looked at me.
“This establishes intent.”
But I wasn't finished.
“Play it again.”
We did.
This time I heard something in the background.
A second voice.
A woman's voice.
Darcy.
She said:
“What if she goes to the water board?”
Brock answered:
“She won't.”
“Why?”
“Because we already sent them the photograph.”
The photograph from the reunion.
I understood.
They had planned every angle.
My refusal would make me look selfish.
My protest would look like instability.
My uniform would make me seem controlling.
My absence from the family photographs would make it appear I had withdrawn.
They weren't just trying to steal water rights.
They were building a story in which I deserved to lose them.
Then Darcy spoke again.
“But Dad wouldn't have wanted this.”
Brock's voice changed.
“Your father isn't here anymore.”
That sentence mattered.
Darcy suddenly began crying.
“I knew it was wrong.”
“You still helped.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“I can't undo what I did at the reunion.”
“No.”
“But I can tell the truth.”
She reached into her bag.
Inside was a folder.
“I copied this before Brock knew.”
It contained bank statements showing payments from Quinn Ag Holdings to a private account.
The account belonged to Brock.
But there was another transfer.
To Mom.
$22,000.
I looked at her.
“Mom took the money?”
Darcy shook her head.
“No.”
The money had been deposited into an account controlled by the Quinn Family Agricultural Trust.
Not Mom personally.
It had never been paid to her.
Brock had only told everyone she would receive it.
A lie.
That meant even Mom had been used.
Then another document appeared.
A trust accounting statement.
Brock had already withdrawn $480,000 from the trust.
For “consulting expenses.”
I stared.
“He's been stealing from the trust.”
“Yes,” Norville said.
“And the irrigation transfer would cover the rest.”
“Yes.”
Now we had the full picture.
Brock wasn't simply trying to increase his farm's value.
He was trying to cover years of unauthorized withdrawals.
The irrigation deal was his exit.
If it succeeded, the missing money would disappear inside a larger development transaction.
If it failed, he would face financial exposure.
Suddenly Darcy looked at me.
“I want to help.”
I didn't answer immediately.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You helped create the story that I was the problem.”
“I know.”
“Then helping now doesn't erase that.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“I don't expect it to.”
That was the first thing she had said that sounded like my sister.
Norville stood.
“We have enough to petition for an emergency injunction.”
“How fast?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And the water board hearing?”
“Same afternoon.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Brock.
Come to the farm tonight. Alone.
I showed everyone.
Norville immediately shook his head.
“No.”
But before I could answer, another message arrived.
A photograph.
Dad's old fence post.
Someone had placed his broken rain gauge on top.
Beneath it was a note.
You still haven't found what your father buried.
I stared at the picture.
Norville went pale.
“There is something buried.”
“Where?”
May you like
He looked at the original survey.
“Under the old irrigation marker.”
