Page 178 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Trust becomes weakness the second you stop examining it.

“I don’t know what to do with that information yet,” I admit honestly.

Annie nods once. “I know.”

“I’ve known Tessa most of my life.”

“And that matters.”

“Yes.”

“But so do the numbers.”

My eyes close briefly. Because she’s right. The evidence doesn’t care about emotional history. It only cares about patterns. And the patterns keep getting uglier.

“I’ll look into it myself,” I say at last.

Annie studies my face carefully, probably measuring whether I mean that or whether I’m trying to protect someone.

The answer, unfortunately, is both.

“I’m not asking you to accuse her,” she says.

“I know.”

“I just…” She exhales softly. “Silas, somebody inside these systems understands how to manipulate them professionally. This isn’t random fraud anymore.”

No, it isn’t.

Someone built this.

My hand tightens around hers before I realize I’m doing it.

Annie doesn’t pull away.

The warmth of her standing beside me under this massive dark sky feels dangerously close to peace. Which means it probably won’t last.

Nothing peaceful has survived this month intact.

Eventually I walk her back toward the house and watch as she heads off to bed, looking sleepy and adorable.

I stand there for a long moment afterward, staring at the closed front door like a man who’s forgotten how movement works.

Then I exhale once, hard, and head toward the barn office. Because if I stay standing here thinking about Annie any longer, I’m going to lose what remains of my judgment completely.

The office is dark except for the desk lamp when I step inside.

Security feeds flicker across the monitor wall in muted grayscale. Barn entrances, equipment sheds, rear gates, service roads.

Normal.

Too normal.

I shrug out of my jacket and sit down heavily in the chair.

Then I start reviewing footage again. Frame by frame.

The returned SD card keeps bothering me. Something about it never fit. The timing was too precise. The access too clean.