Dennis held out a cream-colored envelope with Dad’s crooked handwriting across the front. “Mr. Hollis gave me this after the will,” he said. “Dad told him I could only open it if I ever came to you for help.” His voice shook. “Clint, the crop’s dying. I don’t know what I’m doing out there. Will you save it?” I couldn’t answer. The envelope wasn’t addressed only to Dennis. It read: Clint and Dennis—together, underlined twice.

My hands trembled as I opened it. Dennis leaned closer while I unfolded the page. Dad’s first sentence was written in pencil: “Boys, if you’re reading this together, then my plan finally worked.” But before I could continue, Chloe’s frightened voice pulled me toward an entirely different problem aboard our flight. She’d been watching a woman nearby, and she’d noticed something beneath her seat that nobody else had seen.

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