A Homeless….

The next two days became a blur of motion.

Daniel Keene drove up from town after hearing Grace’s message and spent three hours photographing documents, scanning them with a portable scanner, and explaining what he could.

“If these are authentic,” he said, “and they appear to be, then Eleanor preserved a legitimate claim. A large one. But title restoration won’t happen overnight. Mercer will fight it. He’ll argue statute issues, adverse possession, all kinds of things.”

“What about the affidavit naming his father in my father’s death?”

Daniel’s face tightened. “That’s criminal, if it can be substantiated. But the main force here is documentary. Land records. Trust diversion. Fraud.”

Grace nodded. She did not care what category the law placed it under. Theft was theft. Murder was murder.

“I want everything filed,” she said. “Everything.”

Daniel gave her a measured look. “Are you prepared for attention? Because once I move on this, the whole county will know.”

Grace looked around the cabin—at Ellie cleaning soot from the hearth, at Caleb asleep in a blanket nest by the window, at the dust patterns on a house that had waited for her longer than she knew.

“I’ve spent a year feeling invisible,” she said. “I’m done with that.”

So Daniel filed.

By Friday, rumors tore through Cedar Hollow like sparks in dry grass. Folks said the Holloway girl had found old Mercer papers. Folks said Bishop Cabin hid a vault. Folks said Silas Mercer might have stolen half the mountain. Folks said Wade Mercer was furious.

Folks were right about that last one.

On Saturday night, the power from the generator cut without warning.

Grace was washing dishes by lantern light when the cabin went silent.

Ellie looked up from a book. “Did it run out?”

“No.” Grace set down the plate. “Stay here with your brother.”