My Stepfather Sent Me To Patrol A Forest Sector With Standalone Wooden Stairs, Then Erased My Coordinates From The Dispatch Server
Jonah stepped through the door of the maintenance shed, slamming it shut behind him. The sound echoed in the small space, startling Arthur and Gregory Coyle. They jumped back from the wooden worktable where three land transfer documents lay waiting for signatures.
Arthur’s hand shot reflexively to his sidearm holster, his eyes narrowing. But Jonah didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his hands. Instead, he tossed Martha’s certified copy of Clause §14-B onto the table. It landed with a soft slap, directly over the land contracts.
Arthur’s gaze dropped to the document. He glared at the bold red notary stamp. October 12th. Three days in the past. His grip on his holster loosened.
Coyle’s face went instantly pale. He fumbled with his briefcase, pulling out a faded manila folder. “He’s been blackmailing me, Arthur! With these! Old survey photos from 1978! The stairs were there even then! You knew it! You knew this was all a lie!”
Every document Coyle signed over the last 72 hours constituted felony federal forgery with zero financial payoff. The words hung in the air, thick with the smell of old wood and the sudden, metallic tang of fear.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 12 to continue the story.
👉 Previous Decision: You chose to plant the active tracking beacon inside Gregory Coyle’s luxury SUV.
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