Page 7 of Second Chance at Mountain Creek Ranch
Brenda stands up and closes the door to her office. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I do have to warn you that I heard Weston Fields is also interested in the Greenway Ranch.”
Weston Fields is a corporate ranching company that's been buying out family-run ranches all over the state. They tried to make an offer on Mountain Creek Ranch last year, but the Holloways have no intention of selling.
“What does that mean for me?” I ask, dread washing over me. It feels like everything I’ve been doing to bust my ass to make my dream a reality is slipping through my fingers.
"Well, despite the family's eagerness to sell, they are hesitant to sell to Weston Fields. You know how Mr. Greenway felt about them. He'd be rolling over in his grave if he knew his nephews were considering selling the family ranch to a corporate company.”
“So, I still have a chance.”
“As long as the loan is approved. I’m sure the Greenway’s would be more interested in selling to you.”
“That’s great.” I stand up and reach out my hand to her. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me just yet.” She takes my hand and shakes it. “But I will do all I can to help make this happen for you.”
It's not over yet. The flicker of hope inside me that was almost snuffed out by the news that Weston Fields is interested in the Greenway Ranch flickers back to life. Brenda walks me to the bank's front door and tells me she will call me as soon as she has any news.
HARPER
Garrison Traeger's office doubles my anxiety the moment I walk in the door. I feel like I've stepped back into 1978 with the faux wood-paneled walls and burnt orange shag carpet. Rows and rows of file boxes line the walls, standing almost as tall as me. I look around for a receptionist or secretary, but there's no one around.
“Hello?” I call out.
“Who’s out there?” An older man appears from around the corner. A paper napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt and a jelly donut in one hand.
“Mr. Traeger? I’m Harper Holloway. We spoke on the phone about you representing me.”
He narrows his eyes, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind trying to remember. His thick eyebrows shoot up in sudden recognition.
“Henry’s girl, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well come in, come in.” He ushers me into his office that is equally outdated and filled with file boxes and loose files. “Please sit down.”
The chair he points to has a stack of files. I pick them up and hand them to him. He spins around, looking for a place to put them down before he places them on a precariously looking pile near the window sill.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Garrison yanks the paper napkin from his shirt and dabs at the corners of his mouth. “Of course, my dear. Anything for your father. Let me find your file here.”
He looks around on his messy desk until he finds a green folder halfway down the pile and yanks it out like a magician snatching a table cloth out from under a pile of dishes. Somehow the stack of folders stays upright.
"You said that you found some discrepancies in the books, and when you reported your concerns to your supervisor, you were terminated."
“Not for the discrepancies, he claimed it was the result of a performance issue. Which doesn't make sense because I have copies of all of my performance reviews, and they are all exemplary." I hand over the copies I made for him.
“When I called to speak with a,” he looks down at the notes on the papers in front of him. “Edmund Brown. He claimed that after looking further into your claim, they found your signature on many of withdraw slips in which money was taken from the company’s account.”
“That’s a lie!” I yell.
Garrison holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m simply telling you what I was told.”
"I'm sorry." I take a breath to try and calm down. "But that just isn't true. Here is all the paperwork I have—emails, order forms, banking slips. After we initially spoke, I remembered something about discrepancies being talked about last year and someone else getting fired for it as well."
He takes the accordion folder from me. His organizational skills make me nervous about leaving the documentation I have to prove my innocence with him, but what other choice do I have?
We talk a bit more. He asks me questions and scribbles down my responses. After about an hour, he stands up, alerting me to the fact that this meeting is over.
