At 10:00 a.m., I met with the agricultural board about conservation easements Nicholas and I had quietly put in place years ago—restrictions that would make development nearly impossible, even if Brandon somehow managed to sell.
At noon, I sat with Sophia in the Milfield Gazette office, providing documentation for a story headlined, “Local Orchard at Center of Inheritance Dispute; Developer Plans Threaten Protected Agricultural Land.”
By 2:00 p.m., my phone was ringing again.
“The offer’s off the table,” I said by way of greeting.
“Mom, you’re making a terrible mistake,” Brandon’s voice had lost its edge of superiority, replaced by something closer to panic. “The developer’s lawyers are threatening to sue if we can’t deliver as promised.”
“That sounds like your problem,” I said.
“Our problem,” Melissa broke in. “Mom, please. I used the advance to pay off some debts. If this falls through, I’ll be ruined.”
“You should have thought of that before leaving me on the side of the road.”
“That was Brandon’s idea,” she cried. “I didn’t know until we were already driving.”
The betrayal between them gave me no satisfaction. Nothing about this gave me satisfaction—only a cold, necessary sense of justice being served.
“The bank statements show you withdrew fifty thousand dollars three days before your father’s funeral, Melissa,” I said, keeping my voice clinical, detached. “Planning your fresh start already, were you?”
She began to sob—dramatic, heaving cries I’d heard countless times when she didn’t get her way.
“It’s too late for tears,” I continued. “Vincent will send over the paperwork. You both sign, renouncing all claims to Canton Family Orchards and the house. In return, I won’t press charges for fraud, attempted elder abuse, and theft.”
“And the fifty thousand?” Brandon asked, his businessman’s mind still calculating.
“That offer expired,” I replied. “You get to stay out of jail. That’s all.”
I hung up, set down the phone, and stared out the window of Vincent’s office at the town where I’d spent my entire adult life. Across the street, the farmers’ market was setting up, just as it did every Thursday. People moved about their business, greeting neighbors, examining produce, living normal lives where children didn’t abandon mothers on roadsides.
