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Gallo smiles. It’s worse than a threat. “Then the wind changes again. Your daughter. Your ex-wife. That bright-eyed boy of yours on the well pad. We know where everyone sleeps, Mr. Norris. You made sure of that when you killed our men. The only question now is whether you want to be our enemy or our employee.”

The offer: The cartel will inject $40 million into M-Tex through a shell company. In return, they get three dedicated pipelines, unmonitored access to two storage facilities, and a blind eye on certain “logistics” routes across M-Tex leases. Tommy would no longer be a landman. He’d be a ghost partner in a narco-oil empire.

Cooper spits black phlegm into the dirt. “Because my old man taught me that a landman’s job ain’t leases and lawyers. It’s people. And you don’t leave people behind.”

On the table: a stack of legal documents, a cold cup of black coffee, and a single brass casing from a .45 ACP. He rolls the casing between his fingers. It’s a souvenir from the cartel shootout two episodes ago. A reminder that the line between landman and target has become terrifyingly thin.

A radio crackles in a border patrol shack. Static. Then a voice in Spanish: “El norte está listo. La familia Norris será un ejemplo.” The camera pulls back to reveal a wall of photos—surveillance shots of Tommy, Angela, Cooper, and even young Ainsley at a high school soccer game. Someone has drawn a single red circle around her face.