My husband had spent years warning me never to set foot on that farm. So after he passed away and the lawyer handed me the key, saying that from now on the place belonged to me, I was ready to sell it right away and put everything behind me. But before making my final decision, I still wanted to see it once for myself. When the door opened, I finally understood why, all those years, he had never wanted me to set foot there.

“The rocky land to the west. Included in this division?”

He smiled thinly. “That section has limited practical value.”

So there it was. Not just greed. Selective greed. Greed with a map.

Jenna, still unaware she was standing inside a chessboard, said, “Mom, we don’t need all this. We’re not ranchers. We could sell and walk away from this with more money than either of us would know what to do with.”

Money. There it was at last. Not because she was shallow. My daughter had never been shallow. But because grief had made her crave solid answers, and money at least looked solid. Money translated chaos into numbers. Numbers felt fair even when they weren’t.

“Your father left this property to me,” I said.

Robert smiled in that pitying, elder-statesman way that made my skin crawl. “Out of sentiment, perhaps. Out of confusion. The end of life alters judgment.”

My pulse kicked once, hard.

“My husband was of sound mind.”

“Then why the secrecy?” David asked.