Behind it lay thirty-two acres of stubble.
Flat.
Open.
Empty.
The maze was gone.
Not damaged.
Not closed.
Gone.
From the county road, you could see straight across the entire field.
Observation platform.
Temporary tents.
Portable toilets.
And nothing else.
Tyler climbed down from the grain truck covered in dust.
“Well,” he said.
“I guess nobody’s getting lost.”
Rachel laughed.
Even Ben did.
At 12:06 a.m., I sent Trish one photograph.
No message.
Just the field.
She replied thirty seconds later.
You have no idea what you just did.
I slept four hours.
At 6:30 Friday morning, I woke to forty-three missed calls.
News stations.
Neighbors.
Three vendors.
Two HOA board members.
People demanding refunds even though I had never sold them anything.
Someone had posted drone footage of the empty field.
The video had already passed ninety thousand views.
The original caption read:
FARMER DESTROYS HOA CHARITY CORN MAZE HOURS BEFORE OPENING.
