A delivery driver was unloading boxes.
Natalie was checking inventory near the packing shed with a clipboard and a pen tucked behind her ear.
Sienna had just stepped toward the driveway when Garrett’s truck came in too fast, spitting gravel behind it.
Douglas sat in the passenger seat.
Vivien followed in the Mercedes.
Nobody smiled.
Garrett climbed out holding a folder.
He was thirty-three and still had the posture of a man who believed rooms owed him space.
His hair was perfect.
His jaw was tight.
His eyes looked sleepless.
Sienna noticed those things because fear makes the smallest details bright.
“Sign,” he said, shoving the folder toward her.
“No,” Sienna said.
He blinked like the word had hit him.
Vivien took off her sunglasses.
Douglas looked toward the fields, then away.
Garrett stepped closer.
“You think this is a game?”
“I think you should leave,” Sienna said.
His hand shot out.
He drove the folder against her chest and pushed her back into the side of the truck hard enough that the metal thudded behind her shoulder.
