Chapter 15 - The Stand in the Saw Pit
James moved instinctively, stepping directly between Vance’s guards and Marlow, his tall frame shielding her and the open safe behind him.
“You’re trespassing on private property without a search warrant, Vance,” James warned, his voice steady and cold. “The court order granted you access to the business files in the front office, not decommissioned industrial infrastructure.”
“The court order grants Mercer Capital full receivership over all assets within the perimeter fence,” Vance sneered, gesturing to the guards. “Take the book. And escort these two off the premises.”
One of the guards took a step forward, his hand resting on the taser holstered at his belt.
Marlow didn’t shrink back. The shock and sorrow that had weighed down her chest for the past four hours suddenly crystallized into something hard and unyielding. She didn’t reach for a weapon; she reached for the small brass marking gauge she kept in her coat pocket—the tool Amos Bridger had carried for fifty years.
She held it up into the glare of the flashlight.
“You know what this is, Harlan?” Marlow asked, her voice carrying through the resonant kiln like a bell. “Amos locked this gauge forty years ago. Every sawyer on the mountain knows what that setting means. It’s the cut depth for the old water flume safety gate.”
Vance frowned, uneasy. “What are you talking about?”
“The safety gate behind this kiln,” Marlow said, her eyes never leaving his face. “It controls the river headrace that feeds the secondary turbines. It’s connected directly to the county reservoir weir. If you touch that ledger, I drop the gate lever behind this panel. The back-wash will flood the sub-basement in ninety seconds. Your legal files, your servers, and every paper you’ve spent six months forging will be pulp at the bottom of the Ammonoosuc River.”
Vance went white. “You’re bluffing. You’d drown your own shop.”
“My shop is built on white oak timbers, Harlan. It survived the flood of thirty-eight,” Marlow replied, her fingers tightening on the release ring. “Your Chicago investors’ laptops won't survive five gallons of mountain runoff. Call off your dogs.”
Silence hung in the dark space, broken only by the steady, rhythmic thrum of the river current vibrating through the stone foundation.
Vance stared at her, looking for a bluff, but finding only the grim, immovable stubbornness of a woman whose family had carved their lives out of granite and ice. He slowly raised a hand, signaling the guards to stand down.
“This changes nothing, Marlow,” Vance hissed through clenched teeth. “The probate hearing is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning in Littleton. Without a registered attorney presenting that ledger in open court, the default judgment signs the deed over to Mercer Capital at noon. You can’t even afford the filing fee.”
“Get out of my shop, Vance,” James said, his voice deadly quiet.
Vance spat on the concrete floor, turned on his heel, and retreated into the tunnel, his guards following close behind.
As the heavy door slammed shut, Marlow let out a long, shuddering breath. James turned to her, his hands coming up to steady her trembling arms.
May you like
“We have twelve hours,” James said, his eyes locked onto hers with fierce determination. “And we’re going to need more than an attorney. We need the entire valley.”
***
