Page 156 of Lost Then Found
I look closer. The report isn’t a health inspection—it’s a county transfer form. The bakery that shut down last year? It didn’t just go under. It was bought out.
By Hart & Sons Agricultural Development.
Which means Vaughn Hart wasn’t just aware of these closures.
He profited from them.
I exhale through my nose, staring at the name like it might rearrange itself into something less infuriating. Of all the people in this godforsaken town to be tangled up in this mess, of course it had to be him.
The Hart family has been our biggest competition for generations. Neighboring ranchers, owning almost as much land as we do, raising the same high-quality cattle, selling to the same elite buyers. But it’s never been friendly competition, not once. My grandfather, Jacob Wilding, and Vaughn’s father, Billy Hart, had feuds so heated they damn near burned this whole town to the ground.
Land disputes. Cattle disputes. One of them always accusing the other of poaching ranch hands. There was even a rumor that Billy tried to bribe one of my grandfather’s ranch managers into torching a section of Wildingland to cut into our grazing rights. Nothing was ever proven, but my granddad was convinced enough to throw a punch at a town hall meeting, which got them both locked up for the night.
Vaughn Hart has been a thorn in our family’s side since the day he took over the Hart Ranch, and if there’s one thing he’s known for outside of ranching, it’s getting involved in shit he has no business being in. Underground gambling rings, land acquisitions that smell like backdoor deals, government contracts that always seem to favor him just a little too much.
He’s one of those men Summit Springs respects—because on the surface, he’s everything a small-town rancher should be. Hardworking, charitable, a “pillar of the community.” He donates to the high school’s agriculture program every year. Sponsors rodeos. Hosts fundraisers for local businesses when times get tough.
People don’t want to believe he’s crooked, because it would mean admitting that the man who’s been feeding this town for decades isn’t as clean as they thought.
And now his name is all over these reports.
“You think he’s working with Wendell?” Miller asks, scanning the documents again.
I drag a hand over my jaw, shaking my head. “I don’t know. But I know Vaughn doesn’t move unless there’s something in it for him.” I nod toward the transfer forms. “And from the looks of it, he’s been making a hell of a profit.”
Miller scrolls through the pictures on her phone, then looks up at me with an arched brow. “You ever meet him?”
“More times than I’d like,” I mutter. “He’s got a son a few years older than me, I think.”
Sawyer Hart. Cut from the same arrogant cloth as his old man. His four brothers, too, from what it looks like.
Miller chews the inside of her cheek. “So, when do we go pay them a visit?”
I blow out a breath, eyes still locked on Vaughn Hart’s name.
“Soon.” I shut the file and slide it back where it belongs. “For now, we should go before the clerk comes back.”
Miller nods, slipping her phone into her bag. “Got pictures of everything.”
“Good.” I take one last look around, making sure everything is exactly as we found it, before stepping out and pulling the door shut behind us.
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly once we’re back in the parking lot, but not much. Not with what we just found.
Miller stretches, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting with a client in twenty, so I have to go. I’ll look over everything again tonight.”
“Send me the pictures,” I say. “I’ll do some digging too.”
She salutes. “Yes, sir.”
I narrow my eyes. “Keep an eye out today. Be careful.”
Miller smirks, already walking toward her car. “Yes, Dad.”
I cringe. “Don’t call me that.”
She tosses me a grin over her shoulder. “What? Thought you liked being called Daddy.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s only one person who can call me that.”
