Two days pass. No word from Cash McCallister.
On Friday morning, Hadley calls. "Mercer's increasing the bid to two-point-five million if we agree by today. Uncle Beau's pressuring the fence-sitters. It's eight to five now, Sutton. If two more people flip, it's over."
I grab my phone and dial Cash.
He answers on the second ring.
"I was going to call you," he says.
"Were you."
"I was. I looked at your numbers. They're tight, but they work."
My heart is hammering.
"I'll give you a trial run," he says. "One month. We run a joint operation—my land, your cattle, shared resources. If it works, I'll consider a formal partnership."
"Deal."
"I want sixty percent."
"You just said fifty-fifty—"
"I said I'd consider a partnership. My land's bigger, my water's better, and I delivered a calf in front of you, which I think earns me negotiating leverage."
"Sixty-forty. Final offer."
"Done."
"One more thing," I say. "My family's voting tonight. I need something in writing. An agreement I can show them."
"I'll have it to you by noon."
He does. The agreement is fair—clear terms, reasonable conditions, the kind of document that says I'm serious about this.
Now I just have to survive the vote.
The family room is packed. Uncle Beau is holding court near the fireplace, all smiles and confidence. Aunt Linda sits beside him, already counting money.
Granddaddy calls the meeting to order. "Before we vote, I want to give Sutton a chance to present."
Every head turns. Seventeen pairs of eyes. Seventeen opinions.
I stand up. My hands are shaking, so I shove them in my pockets.
"I've got a plan," I say. "Heritage beef. Grass-fed, direct-to-consumer. Agritourism. State grants. A real, viable alternative to selling our land for a quarter of what it's worth."
I walk them through the numbers. The projections. The research. I talk until my mouth is dry.
When I finish, Uncle Beau stands. "That's a nice fairy tale, Sutton. But Mercer is offering two-point-five million. Today."
"That land is worth at least ten million. Garrett Holt is stealing from us." I open the folder Hadley gave me. "And Uncle Beau has been on Mercer's payroll for six months. Five thousand a month. Emails. Wire transfers. He's not negotiating for this family. He's negotiating for himself."
The room explodes.
"What?!"
"Beau, is that true?"
Uncle Beau's face goes white.
"EVERYONE SIT DOWN." Granddaddy's voice. He looks at Uncle Beau. "Beau. Is it true?"
"Yes," Uncle Beau whispers.
The word falls into the room like a stone into a well.
Granddaddy closes his eyes. Opens them. They're wet. Then he looks at me. "Tell me about the partner."
"Cash McCallister. Army Ranger. Five hundred acres. We have a signed agreement."
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear my own heartbeat.
"A McCallister?" Aunt Linda hisses.
"I'm calling the vote," Granddaddy says. "All in favor of selling?"
Four hands.
"All opposed?"
Ten hands.
"Ten to four. The motion to sell is denied."
The room erupts—relief, not anger. The sound of a family that almost lost everything and decided to fight.
Daddy puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, baby."
It's the most he's said to me in three years.