Walter sat still, pretending to read the paper, his heart hammering. He wanted to feel triumphant, but all he felt was a heavy, anxious quiet. By late morning, the site looked more like a crime scene than a workplace. County inspectors in bright vests walked the perimeter, while workers stood in uneasy clusters.
From his window, Walter watched one of them kneel and lift something small and metallic from the dirt. It was one of his casings. Another found a second, then a third. The foreman barked into his phone, pacing near the pit, throwing furious glances toward the hill where Walter’s house sat. Walter felt his pulse in his throat. He hadn’t meant for this to spiral.