Chapter 6 - THE GRANDFATHER WHO DIDN'T BOW
Sheriff Daniel Price had served Hollow Creek for twenty-six years.
He knew every road.
Every family.
Every kind of trouble that usually passed through town.
But he'd never dealt with a case involving Jackson Kesler.
When Jackson arrived at the sheriff's office, he used a cane.
Reed walked beside him.
Two private security officers waited outside.
Sheriff Price stood.
“Mr. Kesler.”
Jackson nodded.
“Sheriff.”
Price looked at him.
“I understand you want to discuss the men who threatened the Morrison family.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jackson stared.
“Because they're in danger because of me.”
The sheriff studied him.
“You expect me to believe that?”
Jackson nodded.
“No.”
Price raised an eyebrow.
Jackson continued.
“I expect you to investigate it.”
For the next hour, Jackson answered questions.
Some carefully.
Some reluctantly.
But he answered.
Price asked about the forest.
The abandoned car.
The bindings.
The men who'd attacked him.
Jackson described what he remembered.
A black SUV.
Three men.
A silver ring.
A voice he recognized but couldn't place.
Then Price asked:
“Why would someone want you dead?”
Jackson looked down.
“Because I've made enemies.”
The sheriff laughed without humor.
“That narrows it down.”
Jackson nodded.
“I know.”
After the meeting, Jackson visited Harold's cabin.
He arrived without an entourage.
Only Reed accompanied him.
Harold opened the door.
His expression was hard.
“Mr. Kesler.”
Jackson nodded.
“Mr. Morrison.”
Harold didn't invite him in.
“You've brought trouble to my family.”
Jackson swallowed.
“Yes.”
Harold stared.
“Then take it away.”
Jackson looked at him.
“I'm trying.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Harold said:
“My grandson has already lost enough.”
Jackson nodded.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Harold's voice shook.
“You don't know what it does to a boy when the people he loves disappear.”
Jackson looked down.
He thought of his own childhood.
His father.
The violence.
The years he'd spent believing fear was the only language men understood.
He looked back at Harold.
“Then help me understand.”
The old man stared.
Finally, Harold stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Inside, Wyatt sat at the kitchen table.
Titan lay beside him.
When Wyatt saw Jackson, his face lit up.
“Mr. Jackson!”
Jackson smiled.
“Hello, Wyatt.”
The boy ran toward him.
Then stopped.
“Are you allowed to walk?”
Jackson laughed.
“A little.”
Wyatt grinned.
“Good.”
Titan approached.
Jackson scratched behind his ears.
“You again.”
The dog wagged his tail.
Harold watched silently.
For the first time, he saw something unexpected.
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Jackson Kesler wasn't looking at Wyatt like a powerful man rewarding a child.
He was looking at him like a man who'd been given something he didn't know how to deserve.
