Briggs came out of the trees like a shadow. One strike to the neck. One hand over the mouth. The guard dropped without a shout. Caleb was already moving because from inside the cabin came a scream.
Harper. Briggs kicked the cabin door hard enough to tear it off one hinge. Caleb and Evelyn rushed behind him. Inside, the air smelled of damp wood, fear, and cheap cigarettes. Harper was tied to a chair near a rusted table, Caleb's flannel still around her shoulders, her face streaked with tears.
A second armed man reached for his pistol. Briggs fired once. The gunman fell backward, screaming and clutching his arm. At the center of the room stood Preston Harrington in a tailored coat far too clean for that place. He looked older than Caleb expected, polished and handsome in the ruined way of men who had never been told no by anyone poor enough to mean it.
On the table were legal papers, a laptop, and a notary stamp. Proxy transfer documents. Evelyn saw them and understood everything. "Preston," she whispered. "Let her go."
Preston grabbed Harper by the hair and pulled a knife to her throat. Everyone back, Harper sobbed. "Mom." Evelyn stepped forward, tire iron shaking in her hand. "You want the company?
Take it. Take all of it. Just let her go." Preston laughed, but there was panic in it now. "You'll bury me in court before sunrise."
"She signs first, her shares transferred to me. Then everyone walks." Caleb stood near the doorway, soaked in mud and grease, invisible in the way working men are often invisible in rooms where rich men are speaking. Preston's eyes were fixed on Evelyn. Briggs's weapon was trained on Preston's chest, but Harper was too close.
One wrong move and the knife would open her throat. Caleb's gaze shifted. Rusted barrel. Old chain. Heavy logging hook.
Three feet away. He saw the room the way he saw engines. Pressure points, timing, weak links. Evelyn moved one step left, pleading, drawing Preston's attention. "She trusted you," Evelyn said. ""Your father trusted you."" Preston's face twisted. ""My father gave everything to your daughter."
"A child." "A spoiled little girl with voting shares. She doesn't understand."" Harper flinched as the blade pressed closer. Caleb picked up the chain silently. "I understood enough not to trust you," Harper whispered.
Preston jerked his head toward her. ""Shut up."" That was the second Caleb needed. He swung the logging chain with every ounce of strength in his body. Iron cracked against Preston's knee. The sound was sickening. Preston screamed, knife dropping from his hand as he collapsed.