🚨 HE THOUGHT HE COULD BURY THE TRUTH. BUT THE DEAD NEVER FORGET. 🚨

The local police station was in utter disarray.

Father Thomas was sitting in an interrogation room, refusing to speak without a lawyer. But when Sheriff Miller searched the priest's home behind the church, they didn't find Bibles or holy artifacts.

They found money.

Bundles of hundred-dollar bills totaling over $500,000, packed into steel briefcases, alongside property transfer deeds for Henry Wallace’s land.

"It wasn't just a murder," Sheriff Miller told Ethan and Clara back at Henry's cabin late that night. "It was an execution. Father Thomas was paid off by Aegis Dynamics. They wanted your uncle’s land, but Henry refused every offer they made. So they decided to take it over his dead body."

"But Henry’s land is just rocks and trees," Clara said, pacing around the rustic living room. Buddy was lying near the stone fireplace, his ears twitching at every creak of the wooden cabin. "It’s barely 80 acres. Why would a giant corporation spend millions to kill a retired man for eighty acres of dirt?"

Ethan looked around the cabin.

The room felt empty without Henry’s booming laugh. Hunted deer trophies hung on the log walls, alongside old photographs of Henry and his late wife, Sarah.

"There’s something here," Ethan said, his voice quiet. "Something Henry never told us."

Buddy suddenly stood up.

He didn't bark. He walked slowly toward the center of the living room, near the large woven rug that sat beneath the oak coffee table. The dog began scratching rhythmically at the floorboards with his right paw.

SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH.

"What is it, Buddy?" Clara asked, kneeling beside him.

Buddy whined, shoving his snout under the edge of the heavy rug.

Ethan grabbed the wooden table, shoving it aside, and pulled back the rug. Beneath it, the oak floorboards looked completely ordinary—except for one brass screw that was polished clean, unlike the rusted ones around it.

Ethan took out his pocket knife and backed the screw out. He pried up a section of the wood.

Hidden in the dark cavity beneath the floor was a weathered steel box wrapped in oilcloth.

Ethan lifted the box out and flipped the metal latches.

Inside lay three items:

An old, leather-bound journal written by Henry’s father in 1952.

A vial of clear liquid labeled Compound X-7.

A detailed geographical survey map of the valley.

Ethan unfolded the map onto the floor. Large red circles were drawn across Henry’s property, with hand-written notes in Henry’s sharp handwriting:

"They think it's just dirt. They don't know what lies beneath the ridge. The lithium vein here is the largest in North America. Worth billions. If Aegis gets this, they poison the county water supply forever. I will take this secret to my grave."

"My God..." Clara gasped, clutching her chest. "The land isn't worth millions. It's worth billions."

"And Henry knew," Ethan said, staring at the map. "He knew that if he sold it, the whole valley’s environment would be destroyed. So he held out. He fought them."

Suddenly, Buddy’s ears went back.

A low, terrifying growl rattled in the dog's chest.

Outside the cabin, the rain had stopped, replaced by a dense, eerie fog creeping through the pine trees.

Then came the sound.

CRUNCH.

Footsteps on the gravel driveway.

Not one person. Multiple heavy boots.

CLICK.