“Your father would never sell this land for development,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “And I didn’t sign anything.”
“You don’t need to,” Brandon explained with practiced patience. “The business was in Dad’s name. The house, too. Pennsylvania isn’t a community property state.”
I knew then that they had planned this—not just after Nicholas fell ill, but perhaps before. How long had my son been waiting for his father to die so he could liquidate our life’s work? How many times had Melissa called, not to check on Nicholas’s health, but to make sure their plan was still in motion?
“I need time,” I said, standing up. “I’m going to bed. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
But there would be no discussion.
