Page 77 of Run Wild Omega

“What do you mean, they may be right?” I ask, my mind already racing through the implications.

Daniel runs a hand over his face. “When Leo started Sweet Creek Adventures, he structured it as a subsidiary of his old company in Denver. The liability policy was written under the parent company’s umbrella with a rider that covered the new venture. But when Leo sold the parent company two years ago, the umbrella policy was terminated. The new policy for Sweet Creek Adventures as a standalone entity was issued, but there’s a gap in the coverage timeline—seventeen days between the old policy lapsing and the new one taking effect.”

“Seventeen days,” Dylan repeats.

“The avalanche happened well over a year after the new policy took effect, so technically the coverage is valid. But the law firm is arguing that the gap indicates a pattern of operational negligence—that Leo didn’t take the administrative requirements seriously, which calls into question whether other compliance measures were also sloppy.”

“That’s a stretch,” I say.

“It’s a legal argument. It doesn’t need to be airtight; it just needs to create enough doubt to drag the case out and bleed Leo’s resources. Discovery alone could take a year. Depositions, document requests, expert witnesses—it’s going to cost him a fortune in legal fees, regardless of the outcome.”

Wyatt stands up from the plastic chair. “Does Tess know about this?”

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way for now. She agreed to the claim to stop the packs and the media. If she finds out the lawsuit has real teeth—that Leo’s insurance might not hold—she’ll blame herself, and she’ll do something impulsive.”

“She’s in a hospital bed,” Dylan points out.

“She’s Tess,” Daniel says, as if that explains everything. It does.

“We need to fix this,” I say. “If the insurance gap is the vulnerability, we close it. Can the new policy be backdated? Can we get a retroactive endorsement from the carrier?”

“I’m already on it. I spoke with Leo’s insurance broker this morning. There may be a way to argue that the gap was administrative rather than operational—a filing error, not a lapse in judgment. But it’s going to require documentation, and it’s going to take time.”

“Time we don’t have,” Dylan mutters.

“Time we’ll make,” Daniel says firmly. “In the meantime, the press conference buys us a news cycle. The claim buys us legal standing. And the investigation—” He pauses. “The investigation is what it is. We cooperate, we provide documentation, and we make sure every single piece of paper shows that Leo ran a tight operation. Because he did. Seventeen-day administrative gap aside, Sweet Creek Adventures is by the book. The certifications are current. The protocols meet or exceed state requirements. Tess’s guide credentials are impeccable.”

I nod slowly, filing the information away, already building a mental framework of next steps. The insurance gap is the priority—we need to neutralize it before discovery exposes it. The investigation is the secondary threat—we need to control the flow of documentation so that nothing gets taken out of context. And the media narrative is the background noise—we’ve bought ourselves a cycle, but we need a second move before this one expires.

“Let’s get back,” Wyatt says. His voice is rough, tired. “Tess will be waking up from her afternoon meds soon.”

We take the elevator up to the third floor. The ICU hallway is quiet—Maggie has done her job, keeping the reporters at bay. A security officer stands at the far end, his presence a silent barrier.

As we approach Tess’s room, I slow. Through the glass, I see two figures on the bed—Mara, perched carefully on the edge of the mattress, her arms wrapped around Tess, who is leaning into her sister-in-law’s shoulder. Tess’s face is turned away from the door, but I can see the rise and fall of her breathing, steady and even. Mara’s hand is in her hair, stroking gently, her lips moving in words too quiet to hear through the glass.

Dylan stops beside me. Wyatt stops too.

We stand there for a moment—three men who have agreed to claim a woman who doesn’t fully trust us, watching her find comfort in the one person in this building who has nothing to do with the rescue, the lawsuit, the cameras, or the lie.

Mara pulls back slightly, says something, and Tess laughs. It’s small and weak and probably hurts her throat, but it’s a laugh. The first one I’ve heard since the mountain.

Wyatt opens the door. The sound makes Tess look up.

Her eyes are red-rimmed but clear. She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, a quick, self-conscious gesture, and then looks at the three of us standing in the doorway.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

Her voice is still rough, still thin, but there’s a steadiness that wasn’t there this morning. She’s not fixed. She’s not fine. But she’s upright, literally and figuratively, and she’s asking about us.

“Yeah,” Wyatt says.

“Everything’s good,” Dylan adds.

I nod. “Fine.”

Tess studies us for a moment, her eyes moving from Wyatt’s bruised face to Dylan’s tight jaw to whatever she sees in my expression. I keep my face neutral. She doesn’t need to know about the investigation. Not yet.

“Okay,” she says softly. She doesn’t push. I wonder if she knows we’re lying and is choosing not to call us on it, or if she’s simply too tired to read us as closely as she usually does.