10. Hannah
HANNAH
The town hall buzzes with conversation as I take my seat on one of the plastic chairs next to Rachel. Abby stayed at home with the kids, but Pops is here. He wants to know more than anyone what’s going on with the land he’s worked all his life.
Grant stands to the side, next to Jace and Sam and some other men I don’t recognize. It’s a wall of broad shoulders, thick muscles, and don’t-fuck-with-me expressions. They may not have their uniforms and weapons, but there’s no denying these are all veterans.
“Tell me you were in the military without telling me you were in the military.” Rachel scans the men with an appraising eye.
Grant speaks quietly with Jace, but his gaze scans the room, and I have no doubt he knows exactly where the exits are, how many people are here, and if anyone’s carrying.
I try not to stare at him and the way he quietly commands the room. His presence is reassuring but also makes me flustered.
Whoever’s threatening the people of Hope would be fools to come here tonight.
“Thank you all for coming.” Peter Huntington steps forward. He’s on the city council, and his family has been in Hope as long as mine.
Daphne, the reporter, sits in the front row, her phone held out to record his words.
“We’re here tonight because some of you have had offers on your land, and some of those offers have been a little, ah, pushy.”
“Aggressive more like,” mutters Rachel.
I catch her eye. By the sounds of it, Pops gave back as good as he got. I was at the bakery the day the lawyers came to the farm, but I’ve heard about how Pops showed his unwillingness to sell by chasing them off the property with his shotgun.
“I’ve asked Mark, a local property lawyer, to make inquiries, and he’s uncovered something you’re going to want to hear. I’ll hand it over to Mark.”
A middle-aged man ambles onto the stage, sets a folder on the lectern, and coughs to clear his throat.
“At the request of some interested parties, I’ve been going through the deed records for Hope and out along Wild Heart Mountain, going back a hundred and fifty years.” He looks up. “A lot of the land around here has what’s called a split estate.”
“This doesn’t sound good,” I mutter.
“It means one party owns the surface. Somebody else owns everything underneath it. It’s also known as a severed mineral estate.”
He waits like that ought to mean something, but the entire room is silent, waiting for an explanation.
“It means you can own your farm and not own what’s in the ground beneath it.”
“What?” Pops squawks, and the whole room goes up at once.
“They’re telling us we don’t own our own land,” Rachel says, her voice tight with indignation.
“Why would anybody do that?” Pops’s voice carries, and the room hushes to hear the answer.
“Speculation. Back then, folks sold the mineral rights off cheap on the chance there was something down there worth digging for. Then the sale rode quietly along through every surface sale after it.”
“So where does it leave us?” someone in the front row asks.
“Most folks don’t even know they have a split estate, and you’ll need to check your individual deeds, which I can help with.”
“So who owns the ground beneath us?” someone asks, and I recognize Lexi; her land has been targeted too.
“Up until recently, it was individual owners who held onto the mineral rights and never did anything with them.” Mark pushes his glasses up his nose. “But here’s the part you want to hear.”
Mark looks around, and all eyes are on him.
“Recently, the under surface split of a large tract of land that takes in most of the surrounding areas of Hope was bought up by one company.”
“What’s he saying?” Pops asks.
“He’s saying that someone bought the minerals under our land over a century ago, and they’ve just sold them to another company.”
“Who’s the company?” Pops’s voice carries across the room, and Mark’s gaze fixes on Pops.
“It’s being bought up by Ashton Holdings.”
There’s a murmur around the room.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” I turn to Rachel, and her expression is grim.
“Ashton Holdings is who the lawyers work for.”
“The ones Pops chased off the farm?”
Rachel nods. “And maybe the same people who vandalized the bakery.”
“Why would they be so aggressive if they already own the mineral rights?”
Rachel shrugs. “They still need access to the land. What use is owning the mineral rights if they can’t access them?”
“They still need the surface either way,” Mark adds, confirming what Rachel said.
“Even a good mineral claim only gets you reasonable access. You can’t put an open pit on someone’s farm just because you own the rock under it.
Not without agreements and permits and such.
Cheaper to buy the top than argue with forty families about the bottom. ”
“Cheaper to scare us off it,” Rachel says, loudly enough to attract indignant nods of agreement.
Mark doesn’t disagree.
“Every one of you, go home and find your deed. Bring it to me and I’ll go through them for free. I’ll go back through the old records at the courthouse too, what we have left of them.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“There was a fire in 1916. A good portion of the county records burned.” Mark takes his glasses off and polishes them on his shirtfront.
“Any land bought before that year may not have a deed filed at the courthouse at all. For those parcels, the only proof of what was sold, and what wasn’t, is whatever the families kept. ”
The hall has gone quiet.
“Then how does the company know what they’ve bought?” Lexi asks.
“They don’t. Not exactly.” He settles the glasses back on his nose.
“Ashton Holdings bought the mineral rights under a large tract, and they’re working from the same burned records I am.
Somewhere in this town there are deeds sitting in shoeboxes and bureau drawers that say precisely which land is severed and which isn’t.
Until somebody reads them, nobody knows for certain. ” He pauses. “Them included.”
A man named Marcus comes to the front. He works for Bedrock Security, and he offers to look into Ashton Holdings itself. He and Jace move to a corner and fall into an intense discussion.
The meeting breaks up, and my gaze searches out Grant. Our eyes catch for a moment before he looks away. It hurts more than it should. He’s been polite but distant over the past few days, and I deserve an explanation.
He moves from his position at the wall to fall in with us as we leave.
I try to catch his eye again, but he moves in front to help Pops through the door and I’m left trailing behind.
For the past two days, we’ve barely spoken.
He hasn’t been avoiding me exactly. He was there at the cafe at four a.m., but something has changed, as if what we did in the pantry doesn’t mean anything.
We haven’t spoken about it, but I’m tired of waiting around for him to speak. As we approach Rachel’s car, I hang back.
Pops has gotten to talking to Joel and Axel and suggests we go for a drink with them at The Landing.
Rachel runs a hand over her eyes. “I need a drink after this.”
I turn to Grant. I’d rather speak with him and clear the air.
“You go with Pops; I’ll get a ride with Grant.”
Before Grant can protest, I go to the passenger side of his car. He unlocks it, and I climb in. It’s time to talk.