“My mother?”
“Anyone.”
That word hurt.
Anyone.
Even family.
Maya contacted the trust company.
The answer came two days later.
The property was indeed mine.
Legally.
The trust had preserved it.
My grandfather had arranged for taxes and basic fees to be paid through a small fund.
Nobody had claimed it.
Nobody had transferred it.
Nobody had apparently even remembered.
The land was forty-one acres.
Mostly hillside.
Forest.
Rock.
One spring.
No house.
No utility lines.
But there was access through an old easement.
And one more thing.
Its value had changed.
A development company had recently begun buying land near the eastern ridge.
They wanted lake-view parcels.
My land sat above the planned expansion.
Maya estimated that developers might offer several hundred thousand dollars.
I stared at her.
“No.”
She blinked.
“No what?”
“I don’t want to sell it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Can they make me?”
