Chapter 4 - The Stallion's Witness
Claire yanked her wrist back with surprising force, pulling her sleeve down to cover the bruises before Daniel could examine them closer. Her face flushed with a mixture of anger and panic, though she quickly forced her features back into a mask of cold defiance.
"The horse kicked me last week when I was cleaning its hoof," Claire lied smoothly, though her breathing was noticeably faster now. "Are you going to cross-examine the livestock next, Daniel? Have you lost your mind completely?"
"Apollo doesn't kick," Daniel said flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I trained that horse myself from a yearling. He only rears and strikes like that when someone uses a heavy crop or an electric prod near his flanks. What were you doing to him out there, Claire?"
"I was trying to move him so I could clear out the wet bedding!" Claire shouted, her voice finally breaking its calm facade as frustration took over. "You're sitting here accusing your own wife based on the ramblings of a terrified child and your own paranoid delusions!"
"Daddy, she had the stick with the metal end," Ethan called out from the counter, his small voice cutting through the escalating argument like a sharp blade. "She poked Apollo until he screamed. She said the horse knew where the secret was buried."
Claire whipped her head around, glaring at the boy with a flash of pure, unfiltered malice that she didn't bother to hide this time.
"Shut your mouth, you little liar!" Claire hissed, taking a sudden step toward the counter.
Daniel moved faster, stepping directly between Claire and his son, his shoulder hitting hers hard enough to send her stumbling back against the refrigerator.
"Never raise your voice to him again," Daniel warned, his voice a low, rumbling threat that shook the kitchen. "Get out of this room. Now."
Claire glared at him, her chest heaving as she realized she had crossed a line she couldn't easily talk her way out of. Without another word, she turned and stormed down the hallway, the sound of her bare feet slapping sharply against the hardwood floor until the master bedroom door slammed shut with a reverberating crash.
Daniel let out a long, shaky breath, turning back to Ethan to check on the boy.
"You did good, buddy," Daniel whispered, smoothing the hair back from Ethan's forehead. "You're safe. I'm going to find out what she's hiding, I promise you."
Ten minutes later, once Ethan had finally drifted off to sleep wrapped in the heavy blankets on the living room sofa, Daniel pulled on his heavy canvas jacket and grabbed a high-powered flashlight from the utility drawer. The rain had slowed to a steady, depressing drizzle outside, but the wind was still howling across the open plains of the ranch.
He didn't go back to the house; instead, he walked out toward the stables, his boots sinking into the saturated mud. The barn was dark, save for the single amber security bulb hanging over the central aisle. As Daniel stepped inside, Apollo the stallion immediately let out a low, deep whicker, tossing his head and stepping nervously against the wooden partition of Stall Four.
Daniel approached the stall slowly, holding his hand out flat for the massive animal to sniff.
"Easy, big guy. Easy, Apollo," Daniel murmured, scratching the horse right behind his velvet ears until the animal's muscles began to relax.
Daniel shined the flashlight beam down into the fresh straw bedding where Ethan had been huddled earlier. He knelt down, running his hands through the damp straw right against the wooden partition dividing Stall Four from the empty feed room next door. His fingers brushed against something hard and metallic buried beneath six inches of packed clay and manure.
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Using a small metal trowel he found hanging on the wall, Daniel began frantically scraping away the dirt. Within minutes, the corner of a heavy, rusted iron lockbox emerged from the earth. With a heavy pull, Daniel dragged the box free, sitting back on his heels as the damp smell of old soil and damp paper filled the air.
He clicked the flashlight off for a second, listening to the wind outside, before shining the beam back down at the box. It didn't have a standard keyhole; it had a rusted combination dial that had been jammed shut with a bent nail.
