PART 3: THE BOOK CLEMENT NEVER KNEW I KEPT

We left before sunrise.

Garrett wanted the children to remain at the cabin with a neighbor farther down the ridge.

Ruth refused.

“The notice says we have to go.”

“You do.”

“Then stop talking like I’m staying.”

Garrett looked at me.

I raised both hands.

“She’s your niece.”

“That is not helpful.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Ruth almost smiled.

By six, all six of us were in the wagon.

Snow had stopped, but the road was hard and white.

Finn slept beneath two blankets.

Anna leaned against Ruth.

Caleb sat beside Garrett and tried to look older than ten.

I held Miriam’s red ledger beneath my coat.

Garrett had asked whether he should carry it.

I said no.

Not because I distrusted him.

Because I had spent too many years handing important things to men simply because they were men.

This evidence had come into my hands.

I intended to keep it there.

Caldwell appeared shortly after eight.

We did not go directly to the courthouse.

Garrett stopped behind Clement’s freight office.

The building looked exactly as I remembered.

Gray boards.

Crooked back step.

One window patched with paper.

I climbed down.

Garrett followed.

“You stay with the children.”

“No.”

“You are six and a half feet tall.”

“Near enough.”

“You cannot sneak anywhere.”

“I’m not sneaking.”

“Exactly.”

He frowned.

I almost laughed.

“I know where the book is.”

“So do I. In the office.”

“You know where the office is. I know where the loose wall board behind the old dispatch shelf is.”

He looked toward the front street.

“I’m coming to the door.”

“That I’ll allow.”

His eyebrow rose.

I ignored it.

The office was locked.

I still had my key.

Clement had apparently forgotten to take it from me when he traded me like a sack of grain.

That felt satisfying.

Inside, the room smelled of ink, dust, leather, and stale whiskey.

Nothing had changed.

His mug sat beside the ledger stand.

His coat hook leaned crooked.

My stool waited behind the high desk.

For two years I had sat there believing that corner was the closest thing I had to security.

Now it looked small.

Garrett stood near the door.

I moved the dispatch shelf.

Pressed the loose board.

My fingers found empty space.

My stomach dropped.

“No.”

“What?”

“It’s gone.”

“Your book?”

“Yes.”

I reached deeper.

Nothing.

Garrett turned toward the office.

“Could Clement have found it?”

“He never knew.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

That was the problem.

I had hidden the reconciliation book because Clement’s accounts frightened me.

Fear makes people careful.

It also makes them overconfident when nobody catches them.

A floorboard creaked.

Garrett froze.

Someone was entering through the front.

I stepped away from the wall.

The door opened.

Deputy Reed stared at us.

Then at my key.

“Morning.”

Garrett said nothing.

I swallowed.

“This looks worse than it is.”

Reed looked at the moved shelf.

“It usually does.”

“I worked here.”

“I know.”

“I still had a key.”

“I see that.”

“I came for a personal account book.”

“Find it?”

“No.”

Reed studied us.

Then shut the door behind him.

“You have twenty minutes before the hearing.”

“Are you arresting us?”

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“Clement reported a break-in.”

I looked around.

“Before we broke in?”

Reed’s mouth tightened.

Garrett noticed too.

“He reported it when?”

“About seven-fifteen.”

“We arrived five minutes ago.”

The deputy looked toward the shelf.

That was the first crack.

Small.

But useful.

“Did he say what was stolen?”

Reed hesitated.

“A book.”

My pulse jumped.

“What kind?”

“He didn’t say.”

I stepped closer.

“He has it.”

Reed’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“The book he reported stolen. He has it.”

“That’s an accusation.”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

I looked toward Clement’s desk.

“If he found my reconciliation book and realized what it contained, he needed a reason to explain why it disappeared.”

Garrett said, “Report it stolen before anyone asks.”

Reed’s face changed.

He did not believe us yet.

But he was listening.

“Describe it.”

“Brown leather. About this size.”

I held my hands apart.

“Two straps. My initials inside the cover.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

I looked directly at him.

“Page forty-three contains an August freight reconciliation for mining equipment delivered to Caldwell warehouse four.”

Deputy Reed stopped moving.

“Warehouse four?”

“Yes.”

“Silas Vane rents warehouse four.”

I looked at Garrett.

There.

Connection.

Clement did not own the warehouse.

Vane did.

My memory had been wrong only in one detail.

Clement used the rear half through Vane.

Reed removed a notebook.

“Tell me the figures.”

I did.

As many as I remembered.

Three crates of drill heads.

Iron piping.

Powder handling fee.

Bridge toll.

Warehouse labor.

C.B.-17.

Reed wrote quickly.

“What does the code mean?”

“Clement Briggs client batch seventeen.”

“Who was client seventeen?”

“That is what the missing book may tell us.”

The deputy closed his notes.

“Go to the hearing.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Deputies don’t explain themselves to witnesses.”

Then, after a pause:

“But if Clement reported stolen property he actually possesses, that interests me.”

It was not enough.

But it was something.

The county hearing room occupied the second floor above the clerk’s office.

By the time we arrived, Silas Vane was already seated.

I recognized him immediately.

Mid-forties.

Trim beard.

Good coat.

The kind of man who wore polished boots near mud because somebody else cleaned them.

Clement sat beside him.

My stomach tightened.

He glanced at me.

Then at Garrett.

Then at the children.

He smiled.

Commissioner Hollis entered at nine.

He was not a judge, though people called him one when they wanted to flatter him.

He handled county estate disputes, guardianship recommendations, and property hearings.

Vane’s attorney began.

I will not pretend I understood every legal phrase.

I understood the intention.

Miriam Hayne allegedly owed Silas Vane a substantial freight debt.

The homestead had allegedly been pledged as security.

Because the estate was insolvent, the children allegedly could not remain under Garrett’s temporary care until the property matter was resolved.

The attorney requested they be placed with county-approved households.

Ruth squeezed Finn’s hand.

Garrett’s jaw hardened.

Then came the papers.

My signature.

My sworn statement.

Clement looked toward me as though he had already won.

Commissioner Hollis said, “Miss Briggs, do you recognize this?”

“I recognize my name.”

“Did you sign it?”

“No.”

Clement sighed loudly.

The commissioner looked at him.

“Mr. Briggs?”

“My niece is upset.”

“I did not ask whether she was upset.”

Clement’s face tightened.

Hollis looked back at me.

“You deny the signature?”

“Yes.”

“Were you employed as bookkeeper for Briggs Freight?”

“Yes.”

“Did you reconcile accounts for Silas Vane?”

“Sometimes.”

Clement’s attorney smiled.

“Then you had access.”

“To accounts, yes.”

“And could have signed this.”

“I could have grown wings too.”

The commissioner hid a smile.

The attorney did not.

He continued.

“Miss Briggs, did your uncle owe money to Mr. Hayne?”

“Yes.”

“And yesterday you left your uncle’s home with Mr. Hayne?”

“Yes.”

“In settlement of that debt?”

“No.”

Clement stood.

“Liar!”

Garrett moved.

I touched his sleeve.

Again.

Let me.

I turned toward the commissioner.

“Clement attempted to pledge six months of my labor as payment.”

Hollis frowned.

“He did what?”

I produced the paper.

Garrett had given it to me that morning.

The commissioner read it.

His expression hardened.

“There is no signature from Miss Briggs.”

“No,” Garrett said.

“Did she agree to the arrangement?”

“No.”

Clement sputtered.

“Hayne took her!”

Garrett’s voice remained quiet.

“I took the paper.”

“And her!”

“She climbed into my wagon because you shoved her toward it.”

The commissioner looked at me.

“Miss Briggs, are you at Mr. Hayne’s home voluntarily now?”

Every eye in the room settled on me.

I thought of the snowy road.

The children.

The thin soup.

Garrett telling me I could leave.

“Yes.”

Ruth exhaled.

Clement stared.

The attorney tried to recover.

“This is irrelevant to the debt.”

“No,” I said. “It shows how Clement uses people when numbers stop helping him.”

Hollis raised a hand.

“Evidence, Miss Briggs.”

I placed Miriam’s red ledger on the table.

Vane’s face changed.

Clement’s did too.

That was satisfying.

“This belonged to Miriam Hayne.”

Vane’s attorney objected.

Hollis ignored him long enough to read the note.

Then he looked at Vane.

“You approached Mrs. Hayne about purchasing the north parcel?”

Vane cleared his throat.

“Business discussion.”

“Twice?”

“Yes.”

“She refused?”

“Yes.”

“Then later owed you enough money to surrender the same land?”

“She ordered equipment.”

“A widow who did not mine?”

“People change enterprises.”

I almost laughed.

Instead I opened the ledger.

“Her last entry was March twenty-fifth.”

Everyone listened.

“She died March twenty-eighth.”

I placed the disputed invoice beside it.

“This says she confirmed an order August seventeenth.”

Vane’s attorney said, “Late billing.”

“Then why does it list August seventeenth as confirmation date?”

Silence.

“And why was the freight delivered to Caldwell warehouse four?”

Vane’s face went pale.

His attorney said, “That could be clerical.”

“Warehouse four belongs to Mr. Vane.”

The room changed.

Commissioner Hollis leaned forward.

“Is that correct?”

Vane did not answer immediately.

“Yes.”

Clement stood.

“This is nonsense.”

I turned toward him.

“C.B.-17.”

His face froze.

“What?”

“You remember.”

“No.”

“You used that code.”

“I used hundreds.”

“For mining equipment delivered in August.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I do.”

His eyes hardened.

“Convenient.”

“Yes.”

I wished I had my hidden book.

Without it, memory was still memory.

Useful.

Not enough.

Vane’s attorney knew it.

“So Miss Briggs claims.”

He turned toward Hollis.

“A disgruntled niece who yesterday transferred allegiance to Mr. Hayne.”

Transferred allegiance.

As though I belonged to whichever man fed me.

I felt heat rise through my body.

Then the hearing room door opened.

Deputy Reed entered.

In his hand was a brown leather book.

Clement stopped breathing.

I knew that book before Reed reached the table.

Mine.

My reconciliation ledger.

He placed it in front of Commissioner Hollis.

“Recovered twenty minutes ago.”

“Where?” Hollis asked.

Reed looked directly at Clement.

“Inside Mr. Briggs’s wagon.”

The room erupted.

Clement surged to his feet.

“That was planted!”

Reed continued.

“Interesting, since you reported it stolen before Miss Briggs entered your office.”

Clement’s face turned crimson.

The commissioner opened the cover.

My initials were there.

L.B.

He turned to page forty-three.

My handwriting.

My figures.

The August mining shipment.

Delivered to warehouse four.

Client batch seventeen.

Silas Vane.

My heart pounded.

There it was.

Truth.

Not all of it.

But enough to make the lie stagger.

Commissioner Hollis read in silence.

Then he looked toward Vane.

“Until this account is investigated, no lien will be enforced against the Hayne homestead.”

Ruth covered her mouth.

Garrett closed his eyes.

“Further,” Hollis continued, “the request to remove the children is denied pending guardianship review.”

Finn whispered, “Does that mean home?”

Ruth hugged him.

“Yes.”

I almost cried.

Almost.

Then Clement said, “Ask her where the missing money went.”

The room quieted.

He was smiling again.

My stomach dropped.

“What money?”

Clement pointed at me.

“She kept every account.”

Garrett stiffened.

Clement continued.

“If Vane’s freight was entered wrong, she did the entering. If payments disappeared, she handled them.”

His voice became louder.

“She signed half the books in that office. Maybe she forged her own name here because she knew somebody would eventually discover what she stole.”

I stared at him.

That was the real trap.

Not only to remove me.

To make me responsible.

And judging by the commissioner’s expression, the accusation was serious enough that the hearing had not ended at all.