There are battles that don’t begin with shouting or fists.
They begin with paperwork.
With thick envelopes, cold language, and people who have never set foot on your land deciding what you can or cannot protect.
I was in the ranch office when the lawyer arrived. The same room where I used to handle simple problems—suppliers, employees, broken fences—now felt far too small for what was about to fall on us.
Ethan had made the connection. An old favor, the kind that only exists in small towns, where everyone knows who owes whom.
The lawyer was younger than I expected, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed experience. He placed his briefcase on the desk, adjusted his glasses, and went straight to the point.
No small talk.
— Marco, the case is more complicated than it seemed at first.
