She almost missed it. A group photo near the bottom, the kind taken to document attendance rather than celebrate. The caption made her blood run cold.
"'Samuel Prescott (center) with son Thomas and grandson Jason Mitchell-Prescott.'"
"Mitchell-Prescott." Andre read over her shoulder. "He's using his mother's maiden name."
Joy stared at the young man in the photo. Younger, smoother, but unmistakably the same sharp features.
"Jason Mitchell is Jason Prescott. Samuel's grandson." Her voice came out steady despite the rage building in her chest. "They've been planning revenge for fifty years."
Joy stared at the screen where Jason Mitchell-Prescott's young face smiled back at her. The same entitled confidence his grandfather had worn in those old newspaper photos. The same certainty that the mountain belonged to him.
Her mountain lion rose inside her chest, no longer pacing but perfectly still. The stillness of a predator who had identified its prey.
"Now we hunt," Joy said.
Chapter
Twenty-One
The blue glowof the computer screen burned into Andre's retinas. His fourth cup of coffee had gone cold an hour ago, leaving a bitter film on his tongue. The police station's war room felt smaller at five in the morning, the walls pressing in with each failed search.
Andre rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the knots that had formed during the night. His fingers moved across the keyboard with mechanical precision. Jason Prescott. Jason Mitchell. Cascade Mountain Development. The same names, the same connections, circling like vultures.
But something pulled at him. A thread he couldn't quite grasp.
He clicked back to the folder of screenshots from the community meeting. Rollo's presentation filled the screen. Old newspaper headlines, grainy and urgent. "Crown Mountain Resort Project Collapses." "Local Opposition Defeats Resort Plans." Samuel Prescott's confident smile in a forty-year-old photograph.
Andre leaned closer. The old man's eyes held something beyond simple ambition. Obsession. The kind that passed from father to son, grandfather to grandson.
His fingers found the keyboard again. "Crown Mountain Resort 1974."
The search results loaded slowly. Andre drummed his fingers against the desk, a nervous rhythm that matched his heartbeat. Most links led to historical society summaries, tourism blogs, dead ends. But halfway down the page, something caught his eye.
County Planning Commission Archives - Digital Collection.
He clicked through. The site was basic, government-issue web design from a decade ago. But the search function worked. Andre typed carefully. "Crown Mountain Resort proposal."
Three results. Meeting minutes from 1974.
The first document opened as a PDF, scanned from old typewriter pages. Andre squinted at the faded text. "Motion to deny Crown Mountain Resort development proposal. Concerns raised regarding environmental impact and community opposition."
Standard bureaucratic language. But in the margin notes, a name kept appearing. Western Development Associates. Not Crown Mountain. Not Prescott.
Andre's bear stirred, hackles rising. He opened the second document. More meeting minutes, but this time from a closed session. "Representatives from Western Development Associates present to address concerns."
The third document was different. A summary of written objections filed by local residents. Andre scrolled through pages of complaints about traffic, water rights, destruction of grazing land. But it was the final paragraph that made him sit up straight.
"Western Development Associates has pursued aggressive tactics in attempting to secure necessary properties for the proposed resort. Multiple landowners report harassment and threats of legal action."
Andre stared at the screen. Western Development Associates. They were using shell companies, even back then.
He needed more. Real documents, not summaries. His searches hit walls of "Document not digitized" and "Available for viewing at County Records Office."
His phone buzzed. Seven forty-five already. How had three hours passed?
Andre grabbed the phone, thumb moving automatically to Joy's number. She answered on the second ring, voice still thick with sleep.
"Andre? Is everything okay?"
