His manager, Will, sighed from five hundred miles away. "The money is gone, Adam. Fortunately, a lot of the work on the camp has already been done."

Adam gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and went through the list of reasons why this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to him. He had been through worse things.

The most important thing to remember: the camp wouldn't be his problem for very long. But how could the money be gone? He'd given his cousin Billy more than enough to build the camp.

"What happened to the money?" Adam leaned and flicked his gaze to the left, looking for a road that he was starting to question the existence of. Not one Internet map had directions for Camp Hope on the outskirts of Dawson, Oklahoma, population fifty.

For the last few miles, since he'd left the main highway, he'd seen nothing but fields of grazing cattle, a few small oil wells, and a smattering of aging farmhouses.

Will cleared his throat, the way he did when he didn't want to give the answer.

"What do you mean, what happened?" Will said, avoiding the answer. Adam came close to smiling, because he knew his agent that well, and he liked him that much.

"You know what I mean." Adam slowed when something moved into the road a short distance ahead. "Where did my money go?"

"It looks like Billy took a few trips, bought a car for his girlfriend and lost a big chunk of cash in Vegas." Will paused at the end of the list. "I really am sorry about this."

"It was my money." Adam wanted to yell but he didn't—this time. It wouldn't d