Page 94 of Unleashed
“Yes, sir.”
The New Falls town offices haven't changed.
Same brick building on the corner of Main and Third. Same pole out front with the Arizona state flag hanging limp in the morning heat. Same cracked concrete steps, same glass door with the hours posted in faded cardstock that nobody's updated since 2019.
I used to come here with my dad when I was a kid. He'd file ranch permits, chat with whoever was behind the counter for forty-five minutes about nothing, and buy me a soda from the machine in the lobby on the way out.
I push through the door. The air conditioning hits me, and I take a breath. I had Ace drop me home this morning so I couldshower and get some fresh clothes on. My rental car was already in the drive thanks to Jett.
I need the sales records for Ranch 42. The transfer documents, the purchase agreement, the land survey—anything that shows who bought it, when, and for how much. If the Greeks acquired that property through legal channels, there's a paper trail. And if there's a paper trail, I can follow it back to whoever's funding the operation.
The lobby is empty except for a woman behind the front counter. She's got her head down, scrolling through her phone, long acrylic nails tapping against the screen. Blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Too much bronzer. A name tag that reads Tiffany.
My stomach drops.
Tiffany Lane.
The girl who made my life hell from sixth grade through sophomore year. The girl who called me ranch trash in front of the cafeteria. Who put gum in my hair on the bus. Who told every boy in our class that I smelled like horse shit and no one would ever want to touch me.
Until I started dating Ace Sterling. And then Tiffany Lane couldn't even look in my direction without her hands shaking, because the name Sterling in this town means something, and the boy who had his arm around my shoulders was not the kind of boy you fucked with.
She stopped. Overnight. Never said another word to me. Crossed the hallway when she saw me coming. And now she's sitting behind a counter in the town offices with the same ponytail and the same nails and what I'm guessing is the same personality.
I approach the counter. She doesn't look up.
"Hi. I need to request some property transfer records," I say.
"Take a number." She gestures at an empty ticket dispenser without lifting her eyes from her phone.
"There's no one else here, Tiffany."
Her head snaps up. Her eyes narrow. The recognition takes about three seconds, and I watch it land, the confusion first, then the placement, then the oh shit.
"Harper Jones." She leans back in her chair. "Well, well. The girl who ran off to the big city."
"The girl who's back. And needs property records."
She arches an eyebrow. Looks me up and down the way she used to in the hallway.
"What property?"
"Ranch 42. Recent sale. I need the transfer documents, the purchase agreement, and the land survey if you've got it."
She sucks her teeth. "That's a lot of paperwork. Might take a while."
"I've got time."
"Might take a long while." She picks her phone back up. "We're pretty backed up."
I look around the empty lobby. The empty chairs. My fists clench.
"Backed up with what, exactly?"
She doesn't answer. Just keeps scrolling. A power play so transparent it's almost embarrassing. Almost. Except I’m now dealing with Hudson Blake, Gianna Milano, and an assortment of mafia associates who could end a life over lunch and not lose their appetite. Tiffany Lane and her acrylic nails don't even register on my threat scale anymore.
I rest both hands on the counter and lean in.
"Tiffany. I know you remember me. And I know you remember what happened the last time you decided to make my life difficult." I smile. "So let's skip the part where you pretendto be busy, and you can go pull those records for me. I'd really appreciate it."
