NORTHSTAR URBAN HOLDINGS
Tom whispered, "I remember them."
Maggie did too.
Years earlier, developers had attempted to buy the neighborhood around the shop.
Jack fought the project.
Not because he hated development.
Because Northstar wanted small owners out cheaply.
There had been town meetings.
Legal disputes.
The project eventually disappeared.
Maggie had forgotten most of it.
Jack clearly hadn't.
Tom searched public business records.
Northstar had dissolved thirteen years earlier.
One of its executives had been Harold Reeves.
Father of Colton Reeves.
Maggie sat back.
"So Ridgeline is the same family."
"Looks that way."
The ledger contained something else.
Dates.
License plate numbers.
Descriptions of men photographing businesses.
Reports of anonymous complaints.
Then one sentence, underlined twice:
If they come back years from now, don't assume they forgot.
Maggie's hands went cold.
"Jack knew."
Tom shook his head.
"He suspected."
"He never told me."
"He was probably protecting you."
Maggie closed the ledger harder than necessary.
"I hate when people say that."
Tom looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because sometimes protecting somebody is just another way of deciding they can't handle the truth."
Tom didn't answer.
That afternoon, Maggie visited three property owners who had sold to Ridgeline.
The first refused to talk.
The second said his insurance rates mysteriously increased after repeated vandalism.
The third, a widow named Carol Peters, invited Maggie inside.
"I sold because I got scared."
"Of what?"
Carol looked toward her front window.
"Men sitting in cars outside my house."
"Did you report it?"
"Twice."
"What happened?"
"Nothing illegal about parking."
"Anything else?"
Carol opened a drawer.
Inside were photographs.
A cut fence.
Broken security light.
Spray-painted garage.
One photograph showed three men near a truck.
Maggie recognized Dean Mercer immediately.
"Can I take this?"
Carol's hands trembled.
"Will they know it came from me?"
"Not if I can help it."
Carol stared at her.
"You shouldn't fight them."
"Why?"
"Because Jack did."
Maggie froze.
"You knew my husband?"
"Everybody around here knew Jack."
"What does that mean?"
Carol's voice dropped.
"After the Northstar deal collapsed, somebody set fire to a storage shed behind his shop."
Maggie's heart stopped.
She remembered the fire.
Jack told her an electrical fault caused it.
Carol continued.
"Everybody knew it wasn't electrical."
Maggie stood slowly.
For seven years she had mourned Jack.
Now she was beginning to discover how many battles he had fought without telling her.
And somewhere beneath grief, something harder was forming.
Not revenge.
Resolve.
That evening, Maggie sat alone in Jack's old office.
The shop was quiet.
Below her, the damaged Harley waited beneath a cover.
She opened her phone and searched for a number she hadn't called in twelve years.
RUTH NAVARRO
Maggie almost stopped.
Ruth had once been a reporter for the St. Louis Sentinel.
Not the kind who covered restaurant openings or town festivals.
Investigations.
Corruption.
Public contracts.
Land deals.
Jack had worked with her during the original Northstar fight.
She answered after four rings.
"Hello?"
"Ruth?"
Pause.
"Who is this?"
"Maggie Sullivan."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Jack Sullivan's Maggie?"
Maggie laughed softly.
"He would've hated hearing it that way."
Ruth laughed too.
"I know."
Then her voice softened.
"I'm sorry. I heard when he died."
"Thank you."
"What can I do for you?"
Maggie looked at the ledger.
"Do you remember Northstar Urban Holdings?"
Silence.
Then:
"Why?"
"Because they're back."
Ruth did not ask what Maggie meant.
Instead she said, "Send me everything."
The next morning Ruth arrived.
She was sixty now, sharp-eyed, thin, gray-haired, wearing hiking shoes and carrying two laptops.
She spread documents across Jack's desk.
"Ridgeline Renewal Partners was incorporated eight years ago."
"By Colton Reeves."
"Correct. But the financing came partly from an investment group containing former Northstar executives."
Tom whistled.
"So they changed the name."
"Companies do that all the time. Doesn't prove misconduct."
Maggie placed Carol's photograph of Dean Mercer on the desk.
Ruth looked at it.
"That's more interesting."
She began digging.
By late afternoon, she had discovered that Stonegate Protective Services had received almost $900,000 from Ridgeline during the previous eighteen months.
Security services, according to public filings.
"But why would a developer need almost a million dollars of private security?" Maggie asked.
Ruth shrugged.
"They could have legitimate reasons."
"You don't believe that."
"I don't believe anything until I can prove it."
Maggie smiled.
Jack had always liked Ruth.
Now she remembered why.
Ruth continued searching.
Then stopped.
"Well."
"What?"
She turned her laptop around.
A photograph showed Colton Reeves at a charity golf tournament.
Standing beside him was Dean Mercer.
Maggie leaned closer.
"They know each other."
"Clearly."
Tom pointed toward the screen.
"Can we use that?"
"Social association isn't evidence of conspiracy."
Maggie sighed.
"Everyone keeps telling me what isn't evidence."
"That's because evidence matters."
Ruth closed the laptop.
"Here's what you have."
She counted on her fingers.
"Vandalism by a contractor tied to Ridgeline. Prior harassment complaints involving the same man. A developer pressuring you to sell. Historical allegations involving his father's company. That's smoke."
Maggie crossed her arms.
"And we need fire."
"Exactly."
Ruth looked at her.
"Which means you do nothing reckless."
"Define reckless."
"No confronting Reeves."
Maggie smiled.
"Too late."
Tom sat upright.
"What did you do?"
"Called him."
"When?"
"This morning."
Tom groaned.
"Maggie."
"He wants to meet tomorrow."
Ruth stared.
"Where?"
"Here."
Tom stood.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because the man may have sent four idiots to destroy your bike."
"Which is why I'm not going to his office."
Ruth considered.
Then she smiled slightly.
"What exactly did you tell him?"
"That I'm ready to discuss selling."
Tom looked betrayed.
"You aren't selling."
"No."
"Then why—"
Ruth understood first.
"Because she wants him talking."
Maggie looked at Jack's old ledger.
"Exactly."
Colton Reeves arrived at Sullivan & Calder Motor Works at 10:03 the next morning.
He drove a silver Mercedes.
Forty-four years old.
Tailored jacket.
Expensive shoes.
Hair too perfect for a motorcycle shop.
He brought no lawyer.
That told Maggie something.
He believed he'd already won.
Maggie met him in Jack's upstairs office.
Tom waited downstairs.
Ruth sat inside a van across the street.
Laura Chen had advised Maggie not to provoke Reeves but had confirmed that Maggie could record a conversation in accordance with state law.
A small recorder sat inside Maggie's jacket pocket.
Reeves smiled.
"Mrs. Sullivan."
"Maggie."
"Of course."
He looked around Jack's office.
"Quite a building."
"It's a repair shop."
"On eight acres of increasingly valuable land."
"Two acres."
"Combined with adjacent parcels."
Maggie sat.
Reeves remained standing until she pointed toward a chair.
"I understand you're reconsidering."
"I'm listening."
His smile widened.
"Our previous offer was 1.8 million."
Maggie raised an eyebrow.
"For a business appraised at nine hundred thousand."
"We're buying potential."
"Whose?"
"I'm sorry?"
"The property's potential or my desperation?"
His smile weakened.
"Business isn't personal."
Maggie thought of the scratches across Jack's Harley.
"No?"
Reeves opened a portfolio.
"We're prepared to increase the offer to two million."
"Why?"
"We need the parcel."
"Need?"
"Strongly prefer."
"What happens if I say no?"
Reeves leaned back.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"You're free to keep operating."
"Even if permits become difficult?"
His eyes sharpened.