Chapter 21
21
F rank Ellis, the lead producer and show host, adjusted the brim of his cap as he ascended the rickety wooden stairs into the attic of the Teton Trails Guest Ranch barn. The old structure groaned beneath his weight, dust motes swirling in the golden light that filtered through the gaps in the weathered siding. The scent of aged timber, dry hay, and lingering traces of livestock filled the air, mingled with the musty aroma of time long past.
Behind him, Tess, the field director, moved with careful precision, clipboard in hand, while Doug, the bearded giant in cargo pants and a flannel shirt, hoisted a camera onto his shoulder, testing the lighting.
The barn’s loft was packed tight with stacks of trunks, old wooden crates, and cardboard boxes with their edges curled from years of neglect. Milo, the lanky sound tech with glasses and a knit cap, adjusted his boom mic, ensuring he captured every creak of the wooden planks beneath their feet.
Charlie Grace followed, her boots kicking up tiny clouds of dust. As she reached the top, her gaze flickered to a pile of hay near the far wall. A bitter memory resurfaced—finding Gibbs tangled up with Lizzy right there, their hushed whispers and guilty faces still burned in her mind. She gave herself a small shake. Not today.
From below, Clancy’s voice rang out, full of excitement. “Start with those trunks, the old ones near the back wall! Those have been up there since before I bought this place!” His wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the stairs, his head tilted upward, watching the scene unfold. “It all belonged to old man Alf Morgan. He died years ago. I bought this ranch from his estate. The only heir was his daughter, but she passed away some time ago. I saw her obituary in the Cheyenne newspaper—died a childless old maid.”
Charlie Grace winced at his careless phrasing. She made a mental note to bring it up with him later. For now, she shifted her attention back to the task at hand.
Frank knelt beside a stack of dusty trunks and old boxes, then pried open the first with careful hands. The leather straps cracked as he unfastened them, the metal buckles tarnished with age. Inside lay a collection of rusted tools, an old miner’s lantern, and a bundle of faded letters tied with a frayed ribbon. He held up the lantern with a grin. “Classic carbide miner’s lamp. Not worth a fortune, but still a great find.”
Tess nodded, making notes as the camera rolled, capturing her and Frank. “We’d be willing to offer two hundred for the set.”
The camera rolled to Charlie Grace. Still caught up in the moment, she nodded without hesitation. “Wow. That’s great!”
Before the words fully left her mouth, Nick leaned in, whispering, “You know you’re allowed to haggle, right?”
She shot him a quick smirk but made a mental note to be more mindful.
Another box revealed a tin full of old silver dollars, their faces worn smooth from handling. Frank examined a few, flipping them in his hand before making another offer, which Charlie Grace quickly accepted. Nick sighed but chuckled under his breath.
Then they moved to the big trunk.
It sat toward the back of the attic, half-buried beneath a pile of burlap sacks. The wood was dark, almost black with age, the iron reinforcements still sturdy despite the rust creeping along their edges. A thick padlock held it shut, its keyhole filled with dust and time.
“Do you have the key?” Tess asked.
Charlie Grace moved to the stairs and looked down, spotting her dad sitting in his wheelchair. “Dad, do we have a key to that old trunk?”
He shook his head and hollered. “Afraid not.”
Charlie Grace returned to the trunk and delivered the news. “I guess you can break the lock open.”
Frank nodded with a grin. “Won’t be the first time.” He motioned to Milo who slipped a bolt cutter from his back pocket and handed it over.
Charlie Grace ran her hand over the lid. “Go ahead,” she said, stepping back.
With a few well-placed strikes, Frank cut through the lock, sending sparks flying. Doug zoomed in with the camera as the lid creaked open. Inside, beneath a layer of yellowed fabric, lay stacks of black-and-white photographs, their edges curled with age. The images depicted men and women in old-fashioned clothing, standing on what appeared to be the deck of a ship.
Clancy called up from below. “What did you find?”
Charlie Grace sifted through the pictures. “Photographs. Looks like an immigrant family arriving by boat,” she said in a voice loud enough for him to hear.
Clancy let out a short laugh. “Must be Alf’s family in those pictures.”
As they carefully sifted through the trunk, Tess reached in and pulled out a small velvet pouch, its drawstring nearly rotted away. With the utmost care, she eased it open, revealing something gleaming inside.
The cameraman came in closer.
Frank lifted the item into the dim attic light—a gold pocket watch, its casing ornately engraved. He turned it over, his eyes widening. “Do you know what you have here?” His voice carried an edge of disbelief as he looked at Tess. “Oh, my goodness. This is a Patek Philippe.”
Charlie Grace exchanged looks with Nick, unsure of the significance.
Frank exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just any Patek Philippe. This could be one of the rarest models in existence.”
From below, Clancy shouted, “What did you find?”
Tess ran her fingers over the watch’s face, her breath hitching. “If this is authentic, it could be worth…” She trailed off, then locked eyes with Charlie Grace, gripping her arm. “This watch is valued at about ten million dollars.”
Milo’s boom mic wobbled in his grip. Even Doug’s camera shook slightly as he zoomed in on the gleaming watch.
Silence swallowed the attic, thick and weighty. Charlie Grace’s pulse pounded so fiercely she could hear it in her ears, feel it in her fingertips as they clamped onto Tess’s arm.
Nick stared at the watch, then at her, his mouth parting slightly in stunned disbelief.
“That’s…” He let out a low whistle, raking a hand through his hair. “That’s ten million dollars.” A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes shining with something close to wonder. “Charlie Grace. You just hit the jackpot.”
Her breath caught, the weight of it all pressing against her ribs. But then Nick let out a laugh, shaking his head in amazement as he pulled her into an embrace. “You ready to be Wyoming’s newest millionaire?”
Realization crashed over her like a rogue wave, stealing her breath. That sum was enough to pay off the ranch loan. Enough to erase every sleepless night spent worrying about money. Enough to change everything.
From below, Clancy’s voice bellowed once more—this time a bit louder. “Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on up there?”