Brandon reached for it, but I held it back.
“Did you even grieve for him?” I asked. “Or were you too busy planning how to profit from his death?”
Something flashed across his face. Perhaps shame. Perhaps just annoyance at being caught.
“I loved Dad,” he said.
“You loved what he provided,” I corrected. “Security. Status. A safety net for your riskier ventures. What was it this time, Brandon? Another bad investment? Gambling debts?”
His silence was answer enough.
“Your father built something that would have sustained generations if you’d had the patience to nurture it,” I said. I placed the envelope on the dresser. “Instead, you tried to sell it for quick cash.”
“The orchard business is dying,” he snapped. “Dad was too stubborn to see it. Too tied to outdated ways.”
“The development would have made you rich,” I finished for him, “while destroying everything your father valued. Everything I valued. You could have had a comfortable retirement, a condo in Florida, no worries except the worry of living with the knowledge that I’d allowed my husband’s legacy to be bulldozed for vacation homes.”
