Chapter 10 - The Paper Trail at Uncle Ray's Kitchen Table
The farmhouse kitchen smelled of stale chicory coffee and cedarwood smoke. Uncle Ray stood by the window, peering through the parted gingham curtains with a pair of military-grade binoculars while holding a heavy Colt revolver in his right hand. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late sixties with deep-set gray eyes and weather-beaten skin that spoke of decades spent patrolling county borders.
"They missed the logging bypass," Ray muttered, his voice gravelly and low. "Car's stuck in a snowbank three miles back, but they'll be on foot once they realize where this road leads. We don't have much time."
Dominic slammed a stack of encrypted folders onto the scarred oak table, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet room. "Show me what you have on Vance, Ray. We need the corporate registry records and the wire transfers from the Vale Foundation accounts before the local deputies decide to pay a courtesy call."
I hurried into the back room where Lily and Grace were huddled under a thick patchwork quilt on an old daybed. Their breathing had finally slowed, matching the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Grace reached out a small hand, her fingers wrapping tightly around my sleeve.
"Are the bad men gone, Emily?" she whispered, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light.
"They're far away, sweetheart," I said, offering a reassuring smile that I didn't entirely feel. "Your dad and Uncle Ray are making sure of it. You just keep resting."
When I returned to the kitchen, Ray was sliding a stack of yellowed printouts across the table toward Dominic. His finger tapped heavily on a highlighted signature line.
"Here it is," Ray said grimly. "Vance didn't just embezzle charity funds; he funneled them through a shell company registered in Judge Miller's name. They've been bleeding the foundation dry for three years to finance their land grabs across the county. If you upload these files to a federal server, Vance's entire network collapses overnight."
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Dominic stared at the documents, the hard lines of his jaw tightening until a muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
"We need to get these files to the federal field office in the state capital," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, resolute register. "And Ray's right. The local courthouse is compromised. We can't use standard phone lines or local relays."
