He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the old wooden box in front of him. Inside were a handful of spent shell casings; brass, scuffed, harmless. Leftovers from years ago when he still hunted on weekends. He hadn’t touched them in years, but now they gleamed like opportunity.
The plan wasn’t much of one. Just a distraction. Something to make the company slow down. The casings had no powder, no risk just enough to look suspicious if a metal detector swept by. He figured they’d have to stop and bring in the county to make sure the site was safe. Maybe it would buy him time.