Page 48 of Home for Justice
“Looks like you got new wheels,” Anthony called out, his smile stretched tight across his face.
Tyler shut his door with a quiet thunk, not bothering to hide his steady stare. “Only made sense, since I’m staying in the area.”
Tyler saw the flicker. The momentary falter in Anthony’s smile, but the man recovered quickly, stepping closer with false ease.
“Good, good.” Anthony nodded. “I think you’ll like it here. Have you thought about where you might want to live?”
Tyler didn’t answer right away. He simply stared, letting the silence stretch long enough for discomfort to settle between them. Then, with calm finality, he pointed at the earth beneath his boots. “I’m staying here,” he said. “Right here.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Tyler didn’t flinch. And this time, Anthony was the one who blinked first.
“I thought you might say that,” Anthony said, his smile tight, eyes narrowing with manufactured warmth. “After all, this land has been in your family for a while, and I know you’ve got roots here. That’s why I had a brilliant idea—one that’s gonna work for both of us.”
Tyler tilted his head slightly, arms crossed, giving nothing away. Whatever Anthony Milton was selling, he wasn’t interested, but he was curious enough to let the man speak.
“The last thing you need,” Anthony began, shifting into a well-rehearsed tone of casual concern, “is a big old place to manage when you could be out enjoying your retirement. You’ve served your country, and you’ve earned peace, not projects.”
Still silent, Tyler studied him. The man’s act was good… too good. His words dripped with practiced sincerity, but a gleam in his eyes betrayed a greed that overshadowed any goodwill.
“But an old house like this? It’s a money pit. Pumps fail. Wells dry up. Storms take out sheds. Roof replaced. You name it, this place will eventually need it,” Anthony continued, his voice adopting a mock gravity, his head bobbing solemnly like he was delivering bad news with compassion.
Tyler didn’t move, didn’t blink.
Anthony pressed on, oblivious. “You sell to me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Good money. I’ll build condos here… real nice ones, nothing cheap. They’ll have the same view of those mountains you love.” He swept his arm out theatrically toward the peaks in the distance.
“And here’s the best part,” Anthony added with a smirk. “I’ll give you the pick of the units. Custom finishes. Half price. You’d still be living on your family’s land, just in better style.”
Tyler dropped his gaze to the dirt between them, then back up, arching a brow. “And the neighbors?” he asked, voice calm.
“They’ll follow your lead,” Anthony said, waving a hand as if that part were a given. “They’ve got a smaller lot. If you sell, it’ll be a done deal. They’d rather take the money than get squeezed out.”
Tyler’s laugh came low and slow… a dry, humorless sound as he placed his fists on his hips and gave his head a rueful shake. “It certainly sounds like you’ve thought of everything, Mr. Milton.”
Anthony puffed up, nodding with a self-satisfied grin. “That’s why I always close the deal, Mr. Marconi. I think of everything.”
“Except for one thing.”
The smile faltered. Tyler stepped closer, his voice steely, each word deliberate. “I don’t want to sell. Not now. Not ever. This land is mine. It was my grandfather’s. And I’d rather spend everyweekend for the rest of my life fixing that old roof with my own two hands than live one damn day in anything you slapped together to make a buck.”
He paused, letting the words settle in. “And my neighbors? They’re happy. They’re staying. Just like me.”
The silence that followed was thunderous. Anthony’s face turned the shade of bad sunburn as the reality of rejection bloomed across his expression. His jaw worked, the veins at his temple pulsing. Then he lifted his hand, pointing a stiff finger at Tyler. “I’m not giving you long to reconsider this deal,” he spat. “Make no mistake—you will sell to me. And every day you wait, the offer goes down. Daily.”
Tyler didn’t flinch. “I think we’ve said everything that needs saying. Now kindly get off my land.”
The two men locked eyes, a silent battle of wills crackling in the morning stillness. But Tyler didn’t budge, didn’t blink.
Finally, Anthony broke the stare, growled, and stomped back toward his truck. He yanked the door open, slammed it shut, and peeled out of the driveway, a tail of gravel spinning behind him as he disappeared down the lane.
Tyler stood still, listening to the rumble of the truck fade into the distance. He didn’t relax. He knew men like Anthony. Men who couldn’t handle being told no. Who saw land not as heritage or home but as a dollar sign waiting to be mined.
Anthony didn’t know it yet, but Tyler was done with veiled threats. He’d seen intimidation before in war zones and briefing rooms. And if the man pushed again, Tyler wouldn’t hesitate to bring in backup. That was the benefit of his new job. He was surrounded by people who didn’t back down from bullies. And Anthony Milton had just made it onto his watch list.
22
Justice sat at her desk, elbows propped and fingertips pressed to her temples. A dull ache bloomed behind her eyes, the kind that started in the back of her skull and slowly marched forward with grim determination. The day had been a mess—drop-offs had been staggered all wrong, two jobs ran long, and one of the mechanics had called in sick. Her already tight schedule had frayed by lunch.
Only, there was no lunch.
