Chapter 5: The Third Notice

The Larch Creek mine sits two hours southwest of Denver, at the end of a gravel road with a gate and a sign that says NO TRESPASSING.

There were three white vans parked in front of the gate.

The gate was open.

"Those aren't ours," said Tiernan, pulling up beside them.

Six people in orange vests were setting up tripods on the lot, and a seventh was holding a clipboard.

On the clipboard was a Thorsby Resources logo.

I got out of the truck.

My plan, such as it was, came from the glove compartment, where I had found a folded letter.

It was a copy of the one Cordelia had sent to a gravel company two years ago, the day they drove their trucks across our land.

I had made the copy myself.

Matching Log, entry 388.

"Excuse me," I said. "This is private property."

The man with the clipboard didn't look up.

"We have a permit from the board chair."

"Then you won't mind if I read you something."

I unfolded the letter and held it out at arm's length, the way Cordelia does when she doesn't want to wear her glasses.

"Gentlemen. This is the first notice."

He looked up.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Cordelia Harcastle," I said. "Chief executive."

It was the closest I could get to the truth, since she had quit and I was wearing her badge.

"You have until the end of this paragraph to leave."

I read the paragraph.

It was five sentences long, and I did all the pauses.

When I got to the end, nobody had moved.

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