Chapter 3: The Pact and the Pledge

That night, after everyone stumbled back home, Greg pulled me aside with a heavy sigh. He waited until the last light was out.

He looked ten years older, shadows under his eyes, the weight of leadership pressing down. The moonlight caught the silver in his beard as he motioned me over, voice dropping low.

“Wyatt, what’s eating you?” I asked, playing dumb.

I leaned back against the porch rail, arms crossed, doing my best impression of a man with no worries in the world. Inside, I braced myself for whatever was coming.

Leaders are all the same—scheming in their heads, but needing someone else to say it out loud.

It’s a dance as old as politics itself. They want to be the hero, but they need a scapegoat if things go south. I’d seen it a hundred times in a hundred stories.

“Thanks to your plans, Silver Hollow’s gotten this far. But right now, we only have about thirty-five hundred folks and the lands of the Brooks, Lee, and Hughes families. If we want to get a seat at the county table, we don’t have enough leverage.” It’s where the big dogs eat.

His words hung in the air, heavy as a storm cloud. The mention of those families—old rivalries and grudges—made my jaw clench. Everyone knew the county table was where real power was brokered, and we were still outsiders.

“You mean…”

I let the word trail off, inviting him to spell it out.

“Wyatt, I need you to find a way to bring more towns and neighborhoods under our wing, expand our territory.”

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper, like he was confessing a sin. I could see the desperation in his eyes—he was counting on me to pull off a miracle.

“You’re right, big man. Growth is key, but if we want to make Silver Hollow strong, we need more people.”

I kept my tone casual, but inside my mind was racing, tallying numbers and possibilities. The old strategist’s itch flared up—give me a challenge, and I’d find a way to win.

“How many do you think?”

He asked it straight, but I could tell he already had a number in mind. The question was a test, and I wasn’t about to flinch.

“Even if the feds are a mess, the state can still call up a hundred thousand troops, plus the National Guard and local deputies. If Silver Hollow wants to stand up to them, we need at least ten thousand elite fighters for real muscle.”

The math was brutal, but honest. I watched his face as he processed it, lips pressed tight. He knew I wasn’t sugarcoating anything.

“That’s about what I was thinking. Let’s aim for ten thousand for now. I’m counting on you.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, grip firm. The trust in his eyes was a burden and a blessing.

I nearly spit out my beer at this wild request—it was like asking Batman to take down Superman for Lex Luthor. He might as well have asked me to lasso the moon.

I covered my shock with a cough, swallowing hard. The audacity of it almost made me laugh. Ten thousand? In a month?

“I was hoping we could at least double our numbers soon,” Greg added, eyes darting. “How about you give it a month?”

He looked at me like a kid begging for an extra scoop of ice cream—hopeful, but ready for disappointment.

“Uh, let me think on it,” I replied vaguely.

I stalled, buying time. My mind spun through every story, every trick I’d ever read. Somewhere in that mental library, there had to be a solution.

“Wyatt, the governor’s men could show up any day now—we’re running out of time!”

He sounded almost frantic, voice rising with every word. The pressure was on, and he knew it.

“Well… fine, leave it to me.”

I gave him a nod, trying to look more confident than I felt. Fake it till you make it, right?

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. You’ve got a wolf’s smarts, even half-asleep—but this is big. If you can’t pull it off…”

His words trailed off, but the threat hung between us. I forced a grin, pretending not to notice the edge in his tone.

A wolf’s smarts, even half-asleep? What’s that supposed to mean—should I be worried?

The phrase stung, but I let it slide. I’d heard worse from better men.

But with my back to the wall, I made up my mind. If you’re going to play hardball, don’t blame me for playing dirty.

I squared my shoulders, steeling myself. Time to pull a rabbit—or maybe a wolf—out of my hat.

“I’ll sign a pledge!”

I said it loud, making sure everyone within earshot could hear. Sometimes, a little theater is all you need to win the crowd.

“No need, Wyatt. You’re already third in command. I just want to push you to your best.”

Greg tried to wave me off, but I saw the relief flicker across his face. He wanted the promise, even if he pretended otherwise.

So you do remember I’m third in command, huh?

I smirked, letting the thought hang in the air. Rank has its privileges—and its headaches.

“No more talk. If I said I’ll sign, I’ll sign!”

I grabbed a pen and a loose sheet, and scribbled out a bold promise: if I couldn’t double Silver Hollow’s numbers in a month, I’d step down.

I made sure to sign it with a flourish, the ink bleeding through the page. The paper trembled in my hand, but I held it high for all to see.

“Wyatt… I don’t even know what to say.” Greg’s eyes filled with tears as he squeezed my hand.

He held on tight, his grip rough but grateful. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.

“For Silver Hollow!” I declared, full of righteous resolve.

The words rang out, echoing off the walls. Folks nearby nodded, pride shining in their eyes. I could feel the energy shift—hope was a powerful thing.