Chapter 8 - Returning to the Pines
Two weeks after the arrests, my leave request was approved by Lieutenant Colonel Vance.
I drove my truck north through New Mexico and across the Colorado border into the high country where the air grew crisp and smelled sharply of pine needles and damp earth.
The dirt road leading up to my father’s cabin had not changed. The iron gate at the property line stood open, unlocked, exactly as my father had left it.
I parked my truck beside the porch, stepped out, and stood in the quiet stillness of the mountain morning.
There were no generators humming, no Humvees kicking up dust, no briefings to deliver. Only the wind whispering through the high branches of the ponderosa pines and the distant call of a red-tailed hawk soaring above the ridge.
I walked up the wooden steps, pulling the brass key from my pocket—the key my father had given me on my eighteenth birthday with the instruction: “Keep this safe, Elena. Some things in this world can’t be trusted to words alone.”
The lock turned smoothly. The heavy oak door swung open with a familiar, comforting creak.
Inside, the cabin smelled of aged cedar, woodsmoke, and old paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight pouring through the large front windows.
I walked over to the stone fireplace. Resting on the mantelpiece, untouched by Victor’s greedy hands because he hadn't known where the hidden wall compartment was located, sat my father’s old wooden display case.
Inside lay his military medals, his service ribbons from two wars, and a folded American flag.
Beside them was a small, leather-bound notebook with my name written across the cover in his strong, steady handwriting.
I opened it and read the first page:
“If you’re reading this, Elena, it means I’ve gone home, and it means someone has tried to take what belongs to you. Remember what I taught you: never rush good work. Let the dishonest rush themselves into a corner, and always stand firm on solid ground.”
A quiet smile touched my lips.
I placed my hand gently against the polished wood of the mantelpiece.
May you like
Victor and Marianne were currently awaiting trial in an El Paso County holding facility, facing multiple felony counts with zero chance of bail or plea bargains that avoided prison time. Brianna was staying with an aunt in Kansas, working a part-time job and starting fresh without illusions.
And the cabin—my father’s cabin—stood exactly where it had always stood: strong, enduring, and untouchable.
