“First, my daughter—alone, away from her uncles. Then my attorney. And finally…” I glanced at the wall of evidence Joshua had compiled against his brothers. “I think I’d like to speak with those oil company representatives who’ve been making offers on the property.”
Ellis smiled for the first time since we’d entered the hidden bunker. “You’re planning something your husband would approve of.”
“I’m planning something worthy of the man who loved me enough to create all this,” I corrected, a new determination steadying my voice. “And I’m going to need your help.”
“Whatever you need,” Ellis promised. “Your husband saved my life once years ago—gave me this job when no one else would take a chance on an ex-con trying to rebuild his life. I owe him everything. And by extension, I owe you.”
This was yet another side of Joshua I hadn’t known—his quiet generosity extending beyond our immediate family, changing lives I’d never even heard about.
As we left the bunker, carefully concealing the entrance again, I felt a strange sense of connection to my late husband—not the grief that had dominated the past weeks, but a partnership that somehow continued beyond death.
He had left me not just a property and material security, but tools and knowledge to forge my own path forward.
The Mitchell brothers believed they were facing a naïve widow out of her depth.
They had no idea what was coming.
Over the next forty-eight hours, I barely slept, fueled instead by determination and the growing clarity of my plan. I watched a week’s worth of Joshua’s videos in a single night, each one revealing more of his strategy and the depth of his foresight.
“They’ll try to divide and conquer,” he warned in one recording, as if speaking directly to my current situation. “Robert will be the friendly face, Alan the legal threat, David the silent observer—and they’ll target Jenna. She’s their easiest path to destabilizing your position.”
In another video, he walked through the western section of the property—the supposedly worthless acres his brothers had deliberately excluded from their proposal.
“This land looks like nothing, Cat. Scrubby hills, rocky terrain, difficult access. That’s why it’s perfect. No one looks closely at what appears valueless.”
Armed with Joshua’s insights and my own growing understanding of what I faced, I arranged to meet Jenna at a small café in the nearest town—twenty minutes from the farm—neutral territory, away from both the Mitchell brothers’ influence and the emotional pull of Joshua’s carefully crafted sanctuary.
She arrived fifteen minutes late, defensive posture already in place before she even sat down.
“I can’t stay long. Uncle Robert is taking me to meet the family attorney this afternoon.”
“Uncle Robert,” I repeated mildly. “You’ve become quite close in three days.”
She flushed. “They’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming, which is more than I can say for you. You’re treating them like enemies instead of Dad’s family.”
I sipped my coffee, choosing my next words carefully. “Do you remember that art history course you took sophomore year? The professor who talked about perspective—how where you stand completely changes what you see.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ve only heard their perspective on this situation. I’m asking you to consider there might be another view. Your father’s.”
“Dad’s dead,” she said bluntly, pain flashing across her features. “And he obviously didn’t trust either of us enough to tell us about this place while he was alive.”
I reached into my bag and withdrew a tablet. “Actually, he left something for both of us.”
“What is that?”
“Your father made videos, Jenna. Hundreds of them. Messages to guide me—us—after he was gone.”
I turned the tablet to face her, queuing up the specific video Joshua had labeled For Jenna When She Needs It.
Her face paled. “He made videos. He knew he was dying.”
“He was diagnosed three years ago with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” I said softly, finally sharing the truth. “He chose not to tell us. Wanted to spare us watching him decline.”
“That’s impossible,” she whispered, but uncertainty had crept into her voice. “He would have told me.”
“Watch the video, Jenna. Hear it from him.”
With trembling fingers, she pressed play.
Joshua’s face appeared—healthy, vibrant—his eyes crinkling with the smile that was so uniquely his.
“Hello, my brilliant girl. If you’re watching this, then I’m gone. And knowing you, you’re probably angry about all the secrets I kept.”
He chuckled softly.
“You never did like being kept in the dark about anything, even as a toddler.”
Tears welled in Jenna’s eyes as her father continued.
“I should have told you I was sick. Should have given you time to prepare—to ask all those questions you’re so good at asking. But I was selfish. I wanted our last years together to be normal, not overshadowed by my diagnosis. I hope someday you’ll forgive me for that choice.”
Joshua shifted, leaning closer to the camera.
“But there’s something else you need to know. Something about my brothers that I’ve never shared with you. Our arrangement wasn’t some petty family squabble.”
“Jenna, they embezzled my portion of our father’s estate when I was nineteen. Used my name on fraudulent paperwork while I was away at college. When I discovered it and threatened to expose them, they threatened to implicate me as a willing participant.”
Jenna’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes never leaving the screen.
“I left Canada, changed my name slightly—from Jonathan to Joshua—and started over in Minnesota. Met your mother, built a life, raised you. It was more than enough.”
His expression hardened.
“But my brothers never changed. Whatever they’re telling you now, remember this. They’ve wanted control of the family property for decades—not out of sentiment, but pure greed. And they’ll use anyone, including my daughter, to get it.”
The video ended, freezing on Joshua’s concerned face.
Jenna sat motionless, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
“He was protecting us,” she whispered finally. “All this time—for more than just his illness.”
I confirmed gently. “Your uncles aren’t the family connection they’re pretending to be. They’re opportunists who see you as their easiest path to what they want.”
She wiped her tears, anger replacing grief in her expression. “They’ve been lying to me, haven’t they? About everything.”
“Not everything. The farm is worth millions. That part is true. But they haven’t told you about the western section they conveniently excluded from their proposal—or the true extent of the oil deposits there.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “They’re trying to cheat us.”
“Us?” I repeated, hope flickering. “Does that mean you’re back on my side?”
“Mom, I never left your side. I just…” She looked down, ashamed. “I wanted to feel connected to Dad through his family. They had stories about him as a kid. Photos I’d never seen.”
“I understand,” I assured her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Grief makes us vulnerable in ways we can’t anticipate. But now we need to be smarter than they are.”
“Together,” Jenna said, straightening—her expression shifting from devastation to determination, so like her father that my heart ached. “What’s the plan?”
I smiled, feeling the first real sense of confidence since this ordeal began.
“First, we’re meeting my attorney this evening—not the family attorney your uncles want to use, but someone recommended by Joshua’s lawyer in Minnesota. Then tomorrow we have an appointment with Western Plains Energy—the oil company.”
“Why?”
“Because knowledge is leverage. And right now, we know something your uncles don’t: exactly where the oil is, and how much there really is.”
I showed her the geological surveys from Joshua’s war room.
“They think they’re dealing with an uninformed widow and a naïve niece. Time to show them exactly who they’re really facing.”
For the first time since Joshua’s death, Jenna laughed—a sound of genuine amusement.
“Dad always said you were the smartest person he’d ever met. That underneath that quiet high school teacher was a tactical genius who could outthink anyone if properly motivated.”
“Did he really say that?” I asked, surprised.
“All the time.” She smiled, wiping away the last of her tears. “He also said that the biggest mistake anyone could make was underestimating Catherine Mitchell.”
As we left the café together, I felt a shift in the dynamic of this battle. The Mitchell brothers had unwittingly united us instead of dividing us. They had no idea that their apparent early success with Jenna had only set the stage for their ultimate defeat.
Later that evening, with Jenna beside me, I laid out my complete plan to the attorney Joshua had selected for this exact scenario. His expression moved from professional interest to undisguised admiration as he grasped the full scope of what I proposed.
“Mrs. Mitchell,” he said finally, “your husband said you would surprise me with your strategic thinking. He was right.”
“My husband,” I replied, “was right about a great many things, including, it seems, his belief in my ability to not just survive his death—but to emerge stronger from the crucible of grief and betrayal.”
The Mitchell brothers arrived at Maple Creek Farm exactly when I expected: 10:00 a.m. sharp, three days after my meeting with Jenna.
Their black SUV crunched up the gravel driveway with the confidence of men who believed victory was merely a formality. Behind them followed a silver Mercedes I didn’t recognize—likely their attorney or financial adviser.
I watched from the great room window, dressed not in the casual clothes they’d seen previously, but in a tailored suit I’d purchased specifically for this meeting. Appearances matter when staging a coup, and I intended to present myself not as a grieving widow, but as the formidable opponent Joshua had always known me to be.
“They’re here,” I called to Jenna, who emerged from the kitchen looking equally professional in a dark blue dress, her father’s watch—one of his most treasured possessions—prominently displayed on her wrist.
“Ready?” she asked, nervousness and determination warring in her expression.
