Page 58 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

RE: Abandoned Mine on Parcel #90025-7693-09

Dear Mr. Ambarsan,

My name is Tilda McLaeren. I received your email from the Montana Department of Environmental Quality. I’m the Program Supervisor for the Abandoned Mines program. I will plan for an in-person visit on Thursday. I’ve discussed the matter with my team. I will arrive with my geologist. Expect us no later than 2:00 p.m. There is no charge for this visit.

Abandoned mines are a danger to health and safety. Please don’t enter the mine before it can be properly assessed for stability and air quality. We work closely with the Office of Surface Mining Reclamation and Enforcement. Our goal is to promote the reclamation of mined areas that were in use prior to 1977. An unclaimed mine can cause degradation of hillsides and damage water sources.

Our team is responsible for monitoring hard rock mines as you discussed in your email. Thank you for the images and location information. This has been very helpful. I have looked through our records and there is no documentation of a mine on this parcel.

I’m curious to see what you have found. If you feel you will need funding from federal grants, we will discuss the criteria further.

I look forward to meeting you and seeing what you have.

Sincerely,

Tilda McLaeren

DEQ Supervisor

I suck in a deep breath. “Ingrid, a couple of people from the DEQ will come look at the mine on Thursday. They said there isn't any mine on record at the end of Topaz Ridge Trail. I’m really curious as to what they will determine our great-grandfather may have been doing up there.”

“The DEQ, you say? What kind of mine?” a man’s voice questions from behind me.

I whip my head around and stand up to put myself between the stranger and Ingrid. He looks about my age. He's a few inches shorter than me, with mahogany hair and shrewd, gray eyes.

I clear my throat and calmly say, “Hi, I’m Lachlan Ambarsan, co-owner of the ranch. How can I help you this morning?”

Reaching across the front desk, our hands shake respectfully. While mine holds his with skepticism, he shakes mine with arrogance. He's wearing a navy three-piece suit, a gray dress shirt, and a navy striped tie. Silver cufflinks glint under the cuff of his coat, and his reflective sunglasses are resting on top of his head.

Before he can respond, another man enters. He is closer to my height but with mocha skin and chocolate hair. His amber eyes squint at me as I reach to shake his hand as well.

“Lachlan Ambarsan, and you are?” I ask stiffly.

“James Lindell,” he says with little warmth infused in his greeting.

He is in a steel gray suit, a burgundy dress shirt, and a black tie. These men don’t fit in here. I force my gaze over to the first man and lift a brow in his direction.

“Cody O’Connell,” he finally says. “We are here to speak to the owners of the property.”

I turn to look at Ingrid, who has wrinkled her nose at our two visitors.

Responding for both of us, I say firmly, “We are the two owners. This is my sister, Ingrid Ambarsan.”

I don’t like the long look James gives my sister. But her snort tells me he won’t get past her defenses anytime soon.

“What can I do for you two gentlemen?” I ask.

Cody clears his throat. “You see, Mr. Ambarsan, my business associate and I are looking at land in the area to build a golf course and resort. Your ranch has the amount of acreagewe need for our plans. We are here to make you an offer you wouldn’t want to refuse.”

Ingrid speaks loudly, “We aren’t selling the ranch. I think you should leave.”

James puts up his hands. “We are attorneys from Washington State who are looking to make an investment into the economy of Topaz Falls. Our market research shows this town would benefit from a resort with its proximity to Glacier National Park.”

Cody cuts him off. “We are offering $950,000.00 for the land.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? We aren’t selling. This land has been in our family for generations, and we have a very successful therapy ranch here. I think you should go. Either I will walk you out, or we’ll call the sheriff. Thank you for stopping by, but this isn’t the right property for what you are looking for.”

Coming through to the entryway, I motion for them to lead, and luckily they don’t put up a fight. We step out onto the gravel area as they lower their sunglasses. They walk over to a black Mercedes. Hopefully, they got the hint and will leave sooner rather than later.

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