The highway overlook at the Greenfield county line was empty when I pulled off the asphalt at eleven o’clock.

A rusted metal marker post stood at the shoulder, its green paint worn down by years of rain and wind.

I put the transmission in park and let the engine idle quietly while I looked back along the straight two-lane highway.

The silver water tower and grain silos of Greenfield stood small against the blue sky, six miles behind me in the bright morning light.

Gerald’s locked desk on Main Street was empty, his forty-three hidden letters were resting in my command bag, and his financial power over my family was gone.