A Teenager Fights to Free Her Mother, Arrested for Defamation After a Greedy Neighbor Forged Medical Rights in the Old West
Croft’s visit solidified my distrust, turning his “sympathy” into a burning certainty of his deceit. I couldn’t just wait for answers; I had to find them. The map still called to me, but I needed more information about what Croft had already done.
His talk of a “waiver” and an “unfinalized patent” bothered me deeply.
The county recorder’s office was a small, unassuming building downtown, usually quiet except for the occasional rancher filing a new claim. I tried to make myself look older, tying my hair back tightly and adopting what I hoped was a serious expression.
My heart pounded with every step.
“Good morning, young lady,” the clerk, a kindly but stern man named Mr. Abernathy, greeted me from behind a high counter. “What can I do for you?”
“Good morning, sir,” I replied, trying to sound confident. “I’m Elara Hale. My father was Dr. Alistair Hale.”
Mr. Abernathy’s face softened slightly. “Ah, yes, the good doctor. A loss to us all.”
I seized the opening. “Indeed, sir. My mother and I are… just trying to sort through some of his affairs. We were wondering about some property lines, near the infirmary. I heard Mr. Croft had recently filed some papers regarding his adjacent land.”
I tried to make it sound casual, a curious child asking about boundaries.
Mr. Abernathy nodded slowly, peering at me over his spectacles. “Silas Croft, yes. He recently filed an amended deed concerning his property that abuts yours. You’re welcome to look at the public records, of course.”
He pointed to a large ledger on a side table. “It’s all in there. Find the entry for Silas Croft’s main parcel.”
My hands felt clammy as I walked towards the heavy, leather-bound book. This was it. The chance to see what Croft had actually done. I flipped through the stiff pages, my eyes scanning for his name.
There it was. An entry detailing Croft’s land, and an appended note about the Hale infirmary parcel.
A shiver ran down my spine. The handwriting was neat, official. It mentioned the infirmary, the small plot of land it stood on, and referenced a “waiver of claim” signed by my father.
It was exactly what Croft had claimed.
My gaze drifted down the page, past the usual legal jargon. That’s when I saw it. Tucked away in tiny script, almost an afterthought, was a clause so peculiar it made my stomach drop.
It wasn’t just about the land.
The clause stated: “…and further, by this instrument, all rights and claims to any and all medical innovations, formulae, or remedies, heretofore or hereafter developed or discovered upon said parcel of land, shall accrue solely and exclusively to Silas Croft.”
My breath caught in my throat.
This wasn’t about a debt, or even just the physical infirmary building. This clause meant that if I, or my mother, or anyone, ever developed a new cure, a new treatment, even a slight improvement to one of my father’s existing remedies while on *our own property*, the rights would
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