Chapter 3 - Footprints in the Frost
At 8:45 that evening, downtown Amarillo had emptied into a desolate expanse of biting wind and flickering amber streetlamps. Jolie had paid her neighbor Mrs. Gable fifty dollars in cash to watch Posie for four hours, kissing her daughter’s forehead while the little girl fell asleep clutching a worn stuffed rabbit. Driving back toward Sixth Street, Jolie’s hands trembled against the steering wheel. She knew she was walking into a volatile trap. Cullen Strickland was a man haunted by legacy, surrounded by wolves like Tandy Reeves, and desperate to prove he wasn't the weak link in his family's empire.
When she pulled into the narrow alleyway behind Strickland Hat Company, Cullen was already there, leaning against the brick wall beneath a buzzing sodium vapor lamp. He wore heavy canvas work trousers and a dark wool coat, his breath billowing in white clouds.
"You're early," he observed, stepping forward.
"Being late is the easiest way to lose a job," Jolie replied, cutting her engine. She stepped down into the frigid gravel, pulling her woolen cap over her ears. "What are we doing here, Mr. Strickland?"
"Call me Cullen," he said, gesturing for her to follow him through the heavy iron service door. "And we are going to do what my father never bothered to do: look where the cameras can't see."
Inside, the Strickland Hat Company was eerily silent. The scent of steamed beaver felt, leather sweatbands, and cedar filled the darkened showroom. Century-old wooden display cases held custom Stetson-style fedoras and wide-brimmed Western hats under glass domes. Cullen led her through the showroom toward the front display windows. He flipped on a handheld ultraviolet inspection lamp.
"Point it at the bottom sill of pane three," Cullen instructed.
Jolie crouched, pointing the purple beam at the limestone. Instantly, the stone flared with an eerie, fluorescent greenish-yellow glow. Splatters had run down the rock, splashing outward onto the sidewalk pavers like tiny chemical starbursts.
"Ammonium bifluoride," Jolie whispered, her voice tightening. "It reacts with organic minerals and stone silicates. That’s an industrial etching paste. You paint it on, leave it for ten minutes to eat the micro-layer of the glass, and wash it off before sunrise. By midday, sunlight dehydrates the chemical burn, turning it into a cloudy, permanent white scar."
Cullen knelt beside her, his shoulder brushing hers in the cramped space. He reached out with an evidence swab, lifting a tiny flake of dried residue from the stone sill, dropping it into a sterile glass vial. "Tandy had a purchase requisition on her desk three weeks ago for exterior chemical sealants. Approved by Galen Voss’s contracting firm."
"Why would your own operations manager want to destroy the windows she’s paid to protect?" Jolie asked, looking up into his face. In the dim ultraviolet glow, Cullen’s sharp features looked chiseled from slate, but his eyes carried an exhaustion that went bone-deep.
"Because my cousin Marcus owns a forty percent silent partnership in Voss Architectural Glass," Cullen revealed, his jaw tightening. "My father left me fifty-one percent of the voting shares, but the family trust contains a fiduciary clause: if the historic flagship store suffers severe structural or architectural depreciation due to executive mismanagement, Marcus can call a board vote to declare me negligent and force a receivership sale."
Jolie gasped softly. "The thirty-eight thousand dollar replacement contract... it wasn't just a repair bid. It was a paper trail to prove you let the building rot."
"And to pin the blame on you," Cullen added quietly. "An uninsured, low-cost contractor cutting corners with illegal chemicals. Marcus would sue your sole proprietorship into oblivion to make the narrative airtight, collect the insurance payout, hand the restoration contract to Voss, and strip me of the company my grandfather built with his bare hands."
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Suddenly, the soft rattle of the front brass mail slot broke the stillness.
Cullen instantly clicked off the UV light, throwing the room into pitch blackness. He caught Jolie by the wrist, pulling her back behind a tall oak shelving unit filled with hat blocks. Outside, through the shadow of the curved glass, a dark figure approached the window, carrying a heavy duffel bag.
