Mój siostrzeniec zadzwonił do mnie o 5 rano: „Babciu, proszę… nie zakładaj dziś czerwonego płaszcza”. Jego głos drżał. „Dlaczego?” – zapytałam. „Wkrótce zrozumiesz” – mruknął. O 9 rano poszłam złapać autobus. Kiedy tam dotarłam, zamarłam – i zrozumiałam dlaczego.

“—Deputy Hall’s medical report says otherwise. We believe a court-appointed guardian should evaluate whether you’re capable of managing your own affairs. These proceedings will begin next week.”

She’d thought of everything. She wasn’t just trying to steal my property. She was trying to steal my independence, my sanity, my entire life.

“One more thing,” Vanessa purred. “I’ll be moving into the farmhouse this afternoon to begin cataloging assets. See you soon, Mother.”

The line went dead.

Danny had been sitting quietly in the corner, his laptop open. Now he looked up, his face pale but determined. “Grandma, I think I know where Rachel might have hidden something. Something that could break the encryption.”

“Where?”

“Red Lodge. It’s where Rachel was from originally. Before she changed her name.”

Tom leaned forward. “Changed her name? From what?”

Danny’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’ve been digging into her background. Rachel Morrison was born Beatrice Hartley in Red Lodge, Montana. She changed her name legally six years ago.”

“Why would she do that?” Merrick asked.

“Look at this.” Danny turned the laptop around. On the screen was a newspaper article from six years ago.

RED LODGE WOMAN DIES IN HOUSE FIRE Suspicious Circumstances Under Investigation

“Martha Hartley, 78, died last night in a fire at her ranch outside Red Lodge. Hartley had lived on the property for 53 years. Authorities are investigating whether the fire was deliberately set. The property had recently been the subject of a legal dispute involving a development company’s attempt to purchase the land…”

I read the article twice. “Beatrice Hartley. Rachel’s grandmother.”

Danny nodded. “And look who handled the property sale. Summit Development Group. That’s Vanessa’s company. She bought Martha Hartley’s ranch six years ago, just before Martha died.”

Tom stood up. “We need to go to Red Lodge. Now.”.

The drive to Red Lodge took two hours. Danny rode with me while Tom and Merrick followed in a state police vehicle. As we drove through the winding mountain roads, Danny told me the rest of what he’d found.

“After her grandmother died, Rachel disclaimed the inheritance. Said she couldn’t bear to own the property where her grandmother died. But I think she was investigating. She took a job at County Records right after that. Started documenting every property transaction Vanessa handled.”

“She was building a case,” I said.

“For six years. Watching and waiting. And then she found me. The perfect inside source to a family Vanessa was targeting.”

“But why did she take my red coat?”

Danny was quiet for a moment. “I think she was planning to meet you at the bus stop in disguise. She was scared. Maybe she thought if she looked like you from a distance, whoever was following her would think twice about making a move in a public place.”

We found the Hartley ranch easily—a burned-out shell of a house surrounded by overgrown pastures. But the barn still stood, weathered but solid.

“Why would Vanessa keep this property?” Robert wondered. He’d insisted on coming when Tom called him, saying he needed to see the truth for himself.

“Because it’s tied up in probate disputes,” Tom said, checking his phone. “The sale is being contested by some distant relatives. As long as it’s in legal limbo, Vanessa can’t develop or sell it.”

Which meant if Rachel hid something here, it had been safe all this time.

The barn smelled of old hay and decay. Pigeons scattered as we entered. Danny went straight to the back, to a row of old horse stalls. One had a name carved into the wood: STARLIGHT.

“Rachel’s grandfather gave her a horse when she was little,” Danny said. “She told me about it once. Said Starlight was the only good memory she had of this place after her grandmother died.”

He knelt, running his hands along the boards. One was loose. Behind it, wrapped in waterproof plastic, was a small metal lockbox. Inside was another thumb drive and a handwritten note.

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. I should have gone to the police years ago, but I was scared and stupid and thought I could beat Vanessa at her own game. This drive contains everything unedited. Original recordings, forged documents, proof of every crime she’s committed over six years. The password is Starlight1997. Use it to stop her before she destroys more families like she destroyed mine. – Rachel

Tom immediately called the forensic team. “We have the password. Get that drive unlocked now.”

We were standing in the barn, Robert reading Rachel’s note with tears streaming down his face, when we heard vehicles approaching. Multiple vehicles, coming fast.

Vanessa stood in the center of her hired men, flanked by her lawyer Peter Mitchell and two large men in suits who looked like they’d stepped out of a mob movie. Her face was composed, triumphant.

“Alexia,” her voice echoed in the empty barn. “You’re trespassing on private property. This ranch belongs to my company. Whatever you found in there is mine.”

“This estate belongs to Rachel Morrison,” I called back, standing my ground. “And she left very specific instructions.”

“Rachel Morrison is dead. The estate has been probated to her next of kin, and I purchased their interest this morning. I’m the legal owner now. Hand over whatever you took.”

“I don’t think so.”

Peter Mitchell stepped forward, his voice oily with false sympathy. “Mrs. Foster, we can have you arrested for trespassing and theft. Sheriff Brennan has been called away on an emergency. We have private security here. You’re alone, and you’re breaking the law.”

“You’re right about one thing, Mr. Mitchell,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Sheriff Brennan’s patrol car is gone. You sent them on a false emergency call about a car accident on the other side of the county. Very clever.”

I hit send on the video I’d been live-streaming for the past ten minutes—to Tom’s phone, to the state police, to three local news stations, and to the FBI field office in Billings.

“But you’re wrong about us being alone. I’ve been broadcasting everything live. Every word you just said, every threat you just made. Thousands of people are watching you right now, Vanessa. Watching you threaten an elderly woman on property you obtained through fraud.”

Her face went white in the harsh afternoon light.

“You can try to take this thumb drive from me,” I continued, feeling stronger than I had in years, “but it won’t matter. In exactly five minutes, my grandson is uploading the complete, unencrypted contents to cloud storage with automatic copies going to the FBI, the state attorney general, and the county prosecutor. It’s over, Vanessa. You lost.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Multiple vehicles, coming from different directions. Vanessa looked at Mitchell, who looked at his hired muscle, who looked at each other and decided that assaulting an elderly woman on live stream wasn’t worth whatever they were being paid.

Vanessa ran. Actually picked up her designer heels and ran for her car like a teenager fleeing a party raid. Mitchell and the others scattered like rats. But the state police were already blocking both exits from the property. There was nowhere to go.