My husband had spent years warning me never to set foot on that farm. So after he passed away and the lawyer handed me the key, saying that from now on the place belonged to me, I was ready to sell it right away and put everything behind me. But before making my final decision, I still wanted to see it once for myself. When the door opened, I finally understood why, all those years, he had never wanted me to set foot there.

A full survey of the property covered it, not just the visible fields and structures, but topographic overlays, mineral-rights boundaries, neighboring tracts, pipelines, access roads, water tables. Red markings indicated oil-bearing formations. Not only to the east, where anyone would expect them based on recent finds nearby, but concentrated deep beneath the western acres Robert had so casually described as worthless.

My eyes moved slowly across the map.

“He knew,” I said.

“At first, no. He bought this place for you. That was true from day one.” Ellis opened a cabinet and withdrew a bound set of reports. “But after the Petersons struck oil east of here, he brought in private geologists under non-disclosure agreements. Three different teams, actually. Didn’t trust the first one on principle.”

I almost smiled through the shock. That was Joshua. Never suspicious in the theatrical sense. Simply unwilling to rest anything important on one source.

“The largest reserve is under the western foothills,” Ellis said. “Deeper than expected. Harder to extract. Easy to miss if you were only looking for a continuation of the eastern formations.”

“And the brothers don’t know?”