He Moved Into an Abandoned Farm — But 3 Gorgeous Women Were Already There

Chapter 2

Wade stared at the three women standing before him, very much alive and very much angry. The pieces of a terrible puzzle were falling into place in his mind, each one more disturbing than the last.

“They told people you were dead,” he said slowly, his voice thick with disbelief. “But here you are, living on your own land. And they’re selling it out from under you to anyone with cash.”

Ruby nodded grimly. “Now you’re starting to understand.” She took a step closer, her green eyes boring into his. “Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Wade ran a hand through his hair, trying to think clearly. “I gave them everything I had. Five hundred dollars for this place. If your deed is legitimate, then I’ve been robbed just as much as you have.”

“More than you think,” Clarabel said quietly. “Show him, Sadi.”

Sadi disappeared into the house and returned moments later with a leather satchel. She pulled out several papers and spread them on the porch railing. Wade stepped closer, his eyes scanning the documents.

“These are copies of deeds we found blowing around town after that windstorm last month,” Sadi said. “Five different properties, all sold by Frontier Bank in the past six months. All to different buyers.”

Wade examined the documents closely. The signatures looked identical — the same flourishing handwriting on each deed. But the properties described were scattered across three counties, and the dates of sale overlapped in ways that defied logic.

“They sold the Morrison Ranch to three different families in the same week,” Sadi continued. “The old Henderson Place has been sold five times since spring. Same pattern everywhere. Cash only. No inspections. Buyers encouraged to take possession immediately.”

“It’s a confidence scheme,” Wade realized, his anger building. “They’re taking money from people like me while stealing land from people like you. When the buyers show up and find the properties occupied, what happens?”

Ruby’s expression darkened. “Most folks turn around and leave. They figure they got swindled and chalk it up to bad luck. The bank keeps their money, keeps the land, and starts the cycle over again.”

“But some buyers don’t give up so easy,” Clarabel added, her voice dropping. “Some try to force us out. That’s when things get dangerous.”

Wade’s hand went to his deed, pulling it from his pocket again. He held it up to the light, squinting at the signatures, the bank stamp, the official-looking seal.

And then he saw it.

The ink was wrong. Too fresh. It caught the light differently than the rest of the document — a subtle shine that came from ink that hadn’t fully dried before it was folded and creased to look older. He touched the signature lightly with his thumb, and a tiny smudge came off on his skin.

The ink was barely dry.

This deed had been signed — forged — within the past few hours. Not three days ago.