Page 7 of Holiday Pines

Wes didn’t sleep well.

He tried. He went to bed at ten, lay there staring at the ceiling until midnight, then gave up and went downstairs for another beer. The house creaked around him, like old bones settling. Through the window, he could see the lot lit up with the security lights, rows of trees standing silent in the cold.

Forty acres.

Three generations.

Forty-seven thousand dollars in debt.

He finished the beer, set the bottle in the sink, and lurched back up the stairs

His phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark. He picked it up, checked the monitoring app. Henry’s dot glowed steadily in the downstairs bedroom, unmoving.

Asleep.

Wes scrolled through his emails. Nothing important. Spam, mostly. A reminder from the electric company that his bill was overdue.

Great.

He was about to set the phone down when he saw it. An email from Regional First Bank, sent at 8:47 PM.

Subject:Holiday Pines Assessment - Follow-Up

Wes’s thumb hovered over it.

Don’t open it. Just delete it. You don’t need to read whatever corporate bullshit he’s?—

He opened it.

Mr. Dalton,

Thank you for allowing me to visit Holiday Pines today. I appreciate your time and candor.

After reviewing the property and financials, I believe there are viable recovery options worth discussing. I’ll be in town through the end of December, working with other properties in the area.

If you’re available, I’d like to schedule a follow-up meeting to go over potential restructuring plans.

I’m staying at the Hawthorne House B&B if you need to reach me.

Best regards,

Jake Marley

Senior Loan Officer, Agricultural Recovery

Regional First Bank

Wes read it twice.

Viable recovery options.

He wanted to be cynical. Wanted to assume it was a form letter Jake sent to every desperate farmer before lowering the hammer.

But the email was short. Direct. No corporate jargon, no false promises.

Just... straightforward.

Damn it.