When Layla Smith stepped out of her tent, the employees of Kivalina Resources Limited Liability Company and the two hired truck drivers had already gone to sleep in their vehicles. Only two young men, T.B. and Anderson, remained by the campfire, sitting quietly. The sudden glare of the Toyota Hilux's headlights against her tent startled her for a moment. She smiled, realizing she had unintentionally given all the men an emotional movie for free.
But her surprise was fleeting. If the lucky spectators who had caught a glimpse of her in that moment could surf her Instagram, their eyes would widen even more, their jaws dropping at pictures of her in a tiny bikini on a beach or by a swimming pool. And yet, now, that same body was clad in a North Face jacket, Tactical 5.11 pants, trekking shoes, and a baseball cap.
T.B. stood up and gestured toward his seat.
"Ms. Layla Smith, please sit here and have dinner. I'd like to rest for a bit. Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely, can you keep watch while I sleep? In about three hours, I'll take over so you can rest."
"No problem, Mr. T.B.," Anderson replied.
Layla set an aluminum tray of food on the tripod next to the campfire to warm it up. Then she pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel's and three stainless steel cups from her jacket pocket.
"T.B.," she called, "can you grab my three-stringed tautirus from the back of the Hilux and bring it to me? And then, will you drink with me?"
"Miss Layla Smith, I'll have just a little. I still have to keep watch tonight, and I have to drive tomorrow."
T.B. retrieved the tautirus—a traditional Inupiat Eskimo instrument that Anderson had once played in a wooden igloo—from the pickup truck. He handed her the case, accepted the cup she offered, and clinked it against hers.
"To your health, Ms. Layla Smith."
He tilted his head back and downed the entire cup in one motion, then set the empty cup on the table and turned away.
"Wait a moment, T.B. Stay and have another drink. Tomorrow morning, either I or Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely can drive instead."
T.B. merely turned his head and gave her a faint smile, but he didn't stop. The call of beauty did not turn him back; he kept walking toward the Toyota Hilux.
"Does he always treat you so coldly?" Anderson asked, swirling his full cup in his palm.
"He's always like that." Layla sighed, raising her cup toward him. "To your health. And to the success of our trip, Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely."
The stainless steel cups clinked together. Anderson didn't drink the full measure; he only sipped a few drops. Layla focused on her tray of food, while Anderson continued twirling the cup in his hand.
Silence fell between them. Only the chirping of insects and the whisper of the wind accompanied the flickering campfire in the white night of July—mid-summer in Alaska.
For much of the summer, Alaska never truly gets dark. Depending on the latitude, the sun barely dips below the horizon between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m., casting a twilight glow over the land. The brightness is perfect for those who want to stay active, but trying to sleep with the sun still high can be unsettling. In the Inside Passage region, summer begins in May and gradually moves northward, bringing lengthening daylight hours. By July, temperatures in the interior can average in the 70s°F, while coastal and high-elevation areas rarely exceed 65°F. By August and September, the landscape begins its dramatic transformation into fall colors.
"Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely," Layla finally broke the silence, "I don't think you have a real clue about the gold in the Tagiunituk Lakes project."
"Miss Layla Smith, I can't answer your question. I can't reveal everything I have."
"Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely, my uncle William Smith may not know this, but I do. You have no real clue. That letter 'D' you presented in the online meeting? It was just a strong impression, nothing more. It doesn't mean anything. You can't base mining operations on a vague letter stretching over a vast region spanning hundreds of miles."
Anderson raised an eyebrow, surprised. Layla Smith was not only stunning but exceptionally sharp.
"Exactly. Ninety-seven square miles of gold mine area, Miss Layla Smith. No mining company in the world can blast through every mountain and dig up every square foot of land to search for gold over such a large area. Even if they were certain a gold deposit existed, they wouldn't be able to do anything in such a vast region. The Alaska State Government would never approve large-scale gold mining that could cause massive environmental destruction. Now, tell me, do you think your uncle, William Smith, will kill me when he realizes this?"
"No profit, no implementation. That is William Smith's business principle," Layla replied coolly. "Kivalina Resources has nothing to gain by eliminating you. But if my uncle chose to let you go unharmed, why did you still decide to buy shares of our company? You already own 20% of the company. Tell me the real reason."
Anderson smirked. "Miss Layla Smith, you are both intelligent and beautiful. So allow me to present some technical reasons behind my decision. I hope you don't find them dull."
"Our family has been in this business for generations. I won't get bored. Same as William. We are the same attraction to the gold."
"Then let's begin. First, gold exploration is not an easy job. It's a high-risk venture, much like gambling, where the odds of losing are exponentially higher than winning. To be a gold miner, you need not only a fortune but also patience—you must be willing to wait decades. A single survey to locate a gold mine can take anywhere from one to ten years. It requires vast financial resources, time, and multidisciplinary expertise in geography, geology, chemistry, and engineering."
"William Smith has spent twenty-five years in this region just to survey and find where the gold mine is."
Anderson nodded. "That's a long time. I wonder why he never walked away. The probability of discovering a commercially viable gold mine is less than 0.1%."
Layla cut in, her voice sharp and demanding. "But how can we take the gold if we haven't found a gold mine yet?"
As similar to her uncle's behavior as she was, Layla lost patience faster. But unlike William, Anderson admired that about her. She wasn't one to be swayed by unnecessary details.
"Gold mines are classified by the gold concentration in the ore. High-quality deposits contain around 8 to 10 grams of gold per ton. Low-grade deposits have only 1 to 4 grams per ton."
"And what do those technical details have to do with your decision to buy our shares? Everyone in Kivalina Resources knows them." Layla's frustration was evident now.
Anderson's gaze locked onto hers. "Because the data I received states that the gold density here is 9 grams per ton—nearly the highest grade found in gold mines worldwide. Moreover, gold flakes have been discovered along the riverbanks. These two facts confirm one undeniable truth that no one can hide, not even Professor David..."
Layla interrupted him. Her breath caught. "There's definitely a gold mine here! And that's why my uncle spent a quarter of a century searching for it. He realized these facts, but he couldn't pinpoint where to find the mine." She leaned forward, eyes shining with realization. "And you, Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely. That's why you joined Kivalina Resources. That's why you bought 20% of our shares. That's why you're risking your life for a gold rush. In some ways, you're just like us."
Anderson's lips curled into a knowing smile. "No one in this world can resist that temptation."
Layla Smith smiled—a radiant, mesmerizing smile that seemed to outshine the flickering campfire beside them.
"She is so clever. And so beautiful." Anderson whispered the thought to himself, nearly speaking the words aloud.
And then, for just a fleeting moment, he froze.
My Goddess.
This clever, beautiful woman could read his mind as if she had always known him.
He gently touched his stainless steel cup to Layla Smith's. This time, he downed the entire contents in one gulp. The hot liquor burned his throat—just like the truth she had so effortlessly uncovered.