Three days.
Every dollar I had had gone into saving that farm after the failed harvest. I had no savings cushion, no nearby relatives, no backup plan.
“You can’t just throw us out,” I said.
She tilted her head slightly. “I’m his only child. Once the will is read, it’s mine. I’m actually trying to give you a head start.”
My chest tightened.
She walked away humming.
We kept things civil at the funeral, but the real truth hadn’t surfaced yet.
The will reading was set for two days after the service at Mr. Henderson’s office downtown—Grandpa’s longtime attorney.
Linda arrived ten minutes late, dressed in black but glowing like she’d already secured victory. She sat across from me and slid a folded paper onto the polished desk.
“Just getting the unpleasantness out of the way,” she said.
