They reached the farm shortly after four.
Marcus Sterling's blue pickup was parked at the gate.
Norah felt irritation before she was fully out of the truck.
Marcus stood near the log pile with a tape measure in his hand.
Eli's expression hardened.
"Gate was closed."
Marcus turned. "Didn't figure you'd mind me taking dimensions."
"I mind people crossing my pasture while I'm gone."
Marcus wound the tape back into its case. "Fair enough. Didn't mean offense."
Norah walked toward the largest trunk.
The mud around it showed fresh boot prints.
Marcus noticed her looking.
"Just measuring."
"Which ones?"
"A few."
"The same three?"
He smiled thinly. "Those are the only ones big enough to make extraction remotely worthwhile."
Eli walked closer. "You said the whole pile wasn't worth extraction."
"I said it was marginal."
"You said probably rotten."
"I said probably."
Norah almost laughed at hearing Eli's favorite word returned to them.
Marcus reached into his truck and removed a folded paper. "I've got a cleaner proposal. Fifteen hundred for the lot. I take everything."
"I handle cleanup. I assume the risk. Cash as soon as we sign."
Norah stared.
The offer had tripled in less than a week.
Eli did not take the paper.
"What changed?"
"I talked to a buyer who might use some of the larger pieces for decorative stock."
"What kind?"
"Reclaimed. Rustic. Doesn't matter."
"Species?"
Marcus's eyes moved briefly toward Norah.
"Hard to say without cutting."
"Then why fifteen hundred?"
"Because I can afford the gamble."
Eli folded his arms. "We're not selling today."
Marcus's face tightened for the first time.
"Eli, don't turn flood debris into a lottery ticket because a kid found an old map."
Norah's cheeks burned.
Eli's voice stayed quiet. "You don't know what she found."
Marcus realized the mistake.
"I can guess. Everybody knows old channels run all over this county."
"Then you can guess we're going to identify the timber before we sell it."
Marcus looked between them.
"You'll spend more proving it's old than you'll ever make."
"Maybe."
"Waterlogged wood checks. Splits. Looks pretty on a fresh cut and falls apart six feet in."