Hayes’s office.
Inside was the brass key.
And beneath it, a new document.
A deed.
To the farmhouse.
I stared at him.
“It burned.”
“The original structure did.”
“What am I supposed to do with a burned farmhouse?”
Russell smiled.
“Rebuild.”
I looked at the document.
There was another page.
A trust.
Not millions.
Enough to rebuild the farmhouse and operate it permanently.
“For what?”
Russell looked at Margaret.
She answered.
“A place for people starting over.”
I didn’t understand.
Russell explained.
“Women leaving abusive marriages. People escaping financial coercion. Whistleblowers. Anyone who needs time, safety and a locked door.”
The irony hit me.
A house built on secrets would become a house for people escaping them.
My throat tightened.
“Why me?”
Russell smiled.
“Because you know what security feels like when you’ve lived without it.”
I couldn’t speak.
He leaned back.
“And because the first thing I ever noticed
