Page 42 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

I checked the file metadata. Last edited by “admin.” My fingers flitted over the keys and a moment later, I’d found out that Miller was placed on administrative leave with full pay six days after Ty died.

My hands went cold. I scrolled up and down, double-checking every entry, every log-in, every edit time. With each click, it got worse.

It felt like peeling the skin off a fruit and finding it rotten all the way through. The entire case was forged, faked, erased and stuffed with new documents in the hope that no one looked too close.

And then it hit me. My blood ran cold as I saw the witness statements. Waylon Brooks. My father was there that night. I knew he was, but there was official record of it right here.

I pulled up the rest of the evidence logs. According to the inventory, Ty’s phone, wallet, and a set of keys were all “lost during recovery.” Lost. I could’ve thrown the laptop out the window.

I screenshotted everything—every weirdly formatted line, every time stamp, every altered PDF. I made a spreadsheet tracking every edit, every username, every login time. The pattern was obvious: a coordinated effort to make me look like I was at the center of everything.

At some point, I realized my hands were shaking. I balled them into fists and pressed them into my thighs, grounding myself in the pain of my own knuckles. I refused to let myself cry. That was a luxury I’d given up a long time ago.

The final piece was a list of closed case numbers—twenty in all, over the last six years.

Each one marked as “accidental” or “resolved.” I clicked through, and the pattern held: every case with Miller’s name on it had been touched, edited, or altered by “admin” in the days or weeks after it was filed.

Some cases even had new witness statements added months after the fact, all signed by the same two people.

Neither of whom, as far as I could tell, actually existed outside of the reports.

I stared at the screen, the truth sinking in like a stone in cold water.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to cover things up. Not just Ty’s death, but other crimes too. And no one—not a single soul—had tried to stop it.

I googled Mark Miller and found that he’d been terminated shortly after the incident, and sued the department for wrongful termination. A case he lost. Could Miller be the mystery caller? Did he know the truth?

I made copies of every file, every screenshot, every log. I burned them to an SD card and hid the card under the loose floorboard behind the closet. Then I shut down the laptop and sat in the blue dark, letting my pulse slow, letting my breathing even out.

Someone had decided to let the public think I was the perfect scapegoat and I’d just let it happen.

I’d spent most of my life running from who I was, and from where I came from. Now, it felt like the whole town was dead-set on making me wear their sins.

Well, fuck that. I knew what I had to do now.

If Whittier Falls wanted a monster, I’d show them how one was made.

The sun wasn’t even up yet, but my phone was already lighting up the room with a shitstorm.

Miles Bernard. Of course it was.

I let it ring twice, just for effect. Then I tapped Speaker and set the phone next to my keyboard, never breaking stride as I copied another batch of altered PDFs to a fresh directory. The audio crackled as Miles’s voice came through, crisp and fake-casual, which was right on brand.

“Ford! Buddy! Tell me you’re awake. You’ve seen the feeds, right?”

“Morning to you too, Miles,” I drawled, not looking up from the progress bar. “You’re up early.”

Miles didn’t take the bait. “Unsolved Montana is trending in three states. You are the cover image for every blog and aggregator in the entire Western region. Did you listen to the episode? Tell me you listened.”

I watched the folders duplicate, the tiny green bar inching across the screen. “Yeah, I heard it. Don’t care much.”

Miles’s breath came hot and fast, like a kettle about to blow. “I told you this would happen. The board at Breckenridge is freaking the fuck out. This is exactly what we were afraid of when you insisted on going back to that backwater town. The stock has been dropping since this thing started.”

He let the silence hang, waiting for a reaction.

I yawned, stretching my arms above my head. “Maybe it’ll bounce. Maybe people will get bored and move on.”

Miles groaned. “You don’t get it. They are not going to ‘move on.’ They’re going to dig.

They’re going to find everything, Ford. Not just about you, but about the company, the board, the acquisition, everything.

They’re already quoting the tipster on Reddit.

‘It wasn’t Ford. I saw someone else at the creek.

’ It’s a matter of hours before someone leaks the rest of the police files. ”

I smiled to myself, because that was exactly the plan.

“Sounds like you’ve got it handled, Miles,” I said. “What do you need me for?”

His voice dropped, icy now. “You need to get your ass back to California and do some damage control. Now. I don’t care if you have to hitchhike. You’re still on the board, you still have obligations, and you will show up on Monday and read the statement I send you, word for word.”

I toggled over to the password dump I’d started pulling from the city’s network admin. It was a goldmine.

“No can do,” I said. “I’ve got something to finish here. Besides, I told you I don’t want to be on the board. They got the business. I got the money. I think that should have been the end of it right there.”

Miles exhaled, the sound sharp as a gunshot. “You’re making a mistake, Ford. We can make things very difficult for you.”

“Try it. I’m done with you and the whole business.”

“What so you can be a cowboy again? Work on the range?” He was scoffing and meant it as an insult but it wasn’t to me.

“Yeah. Exactly. Don’t call me again, Miles. You have my lawyer’s number if you need to reach me.”

I ended the call and stared at the phone for a second, weighing my options. There was a time in my life when that kind of threat and insult would have given me nightmares. Now, it just felt like noise.

I went back to the screen. The archive was nearly done. I moved the folder to the SD card, encrypted it, and started making a secure upload to three different drop points. I didn’t trust a single machine in this town, or in California, for that matter.

When it was done, I sat back and looked at the list of files, the web of lies and lazy cover-ups I’d spent the night unraveling. It was all there, in black and white. And once I let it out, there’d be no stuffing it back in the bottle.

The phone lit up again. I let it go to voicemail this time.

I rolled my shoulders, popped my neck, and opened a blank email draft.

The recipients: the podcast host, three reporters I knew from the old days, and a private mailbox in the attorney general’s office. No blind copies, no secrecy. Let them all fight it out in the open.

In the body, I pasted the summary. The evidence. The screenshots, the forensics, every last sick detail. I signed it with my full name.

And then I hit send.

The sun was finally coming up over the pasture, turning the world outside the window gold and clean. It looked peaceful. Brand new. Like maybe—just maybe—there was a way to start over.

But that would have to wait.

First, I needed to do the one thing I’d avoided for twenty years. Confront my father.

And then, the whole town needed to hear the truth.

And I’d make damn sure they did.