Then he delivered the sentence that drained the color from her face.
“We’re here today because the farm now belongs to a protected family trust.”
Her expression went blank.
“A trust?” she repeated. “That’s ridiculous. Dad would’ve told me.”
Mr. Henderson remained composed. “Your father met with me multiple times over the past six months. He was very clear about his intentions.”
My pulse thundered in my ears. Grandpa hadn’t spoken to me directly about this.
I’d noticed the lawyer visiting, but those final weeks had been about stories and memories—not legal documents.
Linda leaned forward. “He was medicated. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“He began the process before hospice care,” Mr. Henderson replied. “All documents were signed while he was of sound mind. The transfer was finalized and recorded three days before his passing.”
The attorney pushed the stamped deed across the desk.
