Page 8 of Going, Going, Gone
“Nessa, you have no proof.”
“I’m trying to get the proof! Aunt Elise said when she was little, there was a diary that Rose’s oldest sister had kept—Emily was thirteen when Rose was born. In the diary, she wrote about her father helping the slaves escape. I doubt he ever knew she’d documented everything. It could have gotten them all killed.”
“Where’s this so-called diary?” His tone said he didn’t believe it existed.
“That’s just it. Aunt Elise didn’t know what had happened to it. I helped search the house a few years ago, but we didn’t find it. She thought it might have gotten donated with a bunch of things her grandmother had given to several museums and historical societies years ago. But Elise didn’t know where everything ended up—only just a few artifacts. I’ve checked with the organizations that we found out had some pieces, but the diary wasn’t with them. I have requests in to about thirty different places I think may have the rest of the Coldrick artifacts. Only a few have gotten back to me so far. All I’m asking for is for you to stall the sale of the property for a few weeks until—”
“All you’re asking?” He huffed. “No, that’s not all you’re asking, Nessa. You’re asking me to blow a two-million-dollar deal on a bunch of what-ifs.”
“But if it’s true, and if I find the proof I know is out there, then the farm will be designated a historical site. You said you loved history. Would you be able to live with the fact the farm was destroyed, only to find out I was right a few weeks later?”
Dylan sucked his upper lip between his teeth, not answering her right away, and that gave her a glimmer of hope. Behind Dylan’s back, Ross gave her a silent thumbs up. At least she had one person in her corner. Now she could only pray she’d convinced Dylan to join them.
