“They followed you,” Arthur whispered.

“I was careful,” I said. “I didn’t see anyone behind me on the road.”

My phone suddenly vibrated in my jacket pocket, the buzz loud in the quiet room.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

The message read: *They know where you are. Get out now.*

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding against my ribs.

The doorbell rang, the sound sharp and demanding.

“Arthur,” I whispered, keeping my voice as low as possible. “What is this list of coordinates?”

He looked from the window to the notepad in my hand, his knuckles turning white.

“Your grandmother signed a perpetual conservation easement,” he said, his voice trembling.

“She did?” I asked.

“Yes, it would have protected Blackthorn Ridge forever,” he said. “No subdivisions, no commercial development.”

The doorbell rang again, longer and more demanding this time.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch outside, heavy and deliberate.

“Where is the original copy of that easement?” I asked, gripping his sleeve.

“It went missing,” Arthur said, looking down at his worn leather shoes.