Chapter 2 - The Deed at Willow Creek
Her name on the San Juan County tax registry was Eleanor Vance. Her name on the classified federal ledger buried forty feet beneath the Pentagon was Colonel Eleanor Cross, former Director of Field Operations for the Defense Intelligence Agency.
Twenty minutes later, Jax and Knox escorted her faded sedan down a narrow gravel lane lined with overgrown Douglas firs. The trees closed in above, swallowing the golden light and leaving only twilight in the dirt. At the end of the driveway stood Willow Creek Estate: a three-story Victorian farmhouse built from cedar timber in 1894. The paint was chalking, the porch sagged toward the creek, and the high dormer windows stared out like blind eyes over forty acres of wild riverfront land.
Parked in the circular turnaround were two pristine black SUVs displaying the logo of San Juan Development Corp. Two men in slate-grey suits stood near the porch steps holding leather folders and digital land-survey equipment. The lead agent—a thin man named Julian Sterling with manicured nails and gold-rimmed glasses—looked up as the thunder of two custom V-twin engines rattled the pine needles off the roof.
Jax swung his leg over his bike, his heavy boots hitting the gravel with a solid thud. He adjusted his leather vest, his iron-ringed beard catching the grey evening light.
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"Can I help you?" Sterling asked, holding his clipboard like a shield. "This is a restricted municipal audit zone."
Jax stepped up onto the bottom stair, his broad shoulders blocking the porch light. "You're standing on our mother's porch, pencil-pusher."
