Chapter 5
The identical brass cylinder sat on the wooden table, catching the dim porch light like a silent accusation. Mark stared down at it, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The stranger didn't step inside; instead, he kept his hands resting casually in the deep pockets of his dark trench coat, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his fedora.
"You're wasting your time looking for the mill, Mark," the stranger said, his voice smooth and measured, devoid of any genuine threat yet heavy with underlying menace. "The ground down there has shifted. Whatever your father buried is long gone, or worse, someone else got to it first."
"Who sent you?" Mark demanded, his voice low and steady, though a vein throbbed visibly at his temple. "We made an agreement years ago. I stayed out of it, and you left my family alone."
"Agreements change when the locks are broken," the stranger replied, tilting his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Leo standing near the workbench in the background. "Is this the boy? He has his grandfather's stubborn eyes. It would be a shame if he made the same mistakes."
"Leave him out of this!" Mark snapped, taking a threatening step forward, ready to close the gap between them.
"I'm not the one who dragged him into it," the man replied calmly, stepping back into the shadows of the driveway. "Your father left a trail, Mark. And people in Oak Grove are starting to ask questions about the night the mill burned down. If you want to keep your children safe, you'll hand over the parchment before morning."
Without waiting for an answer, the man turned on his heel and disappeared into the gathering darkness, his footsteps fading rapidly down the gravel driveway.
Mark slammed the heavy wooden door shut, locking the deadbolt with a resounding metallic clunk. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a long moment, his breathing heavy and uneven. Slowly, he turned around to face his son.
Leo stood by the workbench, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of shock and determination. He couldn't shake the stranger's words. "Dad, who was that? What did he mean about the mill and grandfather's mistakes?"
Mark didn't answer right away. He walked over to the table, picked up the stranger's brass cylinder, and weighed it in his hand before setting it next to the first one. They were an exact match. He looked at Leo, the stern anger from earlier entirely replaced by a profound, heartbreaking exhaustion.
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"Your grandfather didn't die of a heart attack, Leo," Mark finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He was murdered because he found out who burned the mill."
Before Leo could process the devastating weight of his father's confession, a sharp crash echoed from inside the house, followed by Maya's terrified scream piercing the quiet night.
