They offered $410,000.
I declined.
They offered $465,000.
I declined again.
Then they sent a representative.
His name was Grant Weaver.
He wore expensive boots that had never touched mud before that day.
He stood near the cave and said.
“You understand this land is difficult to develop privately.”
“I’m not developing it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Living here.”
He looked at the cave.
“Temporarily.”
“Yes.”
“What then?”
“I’ll build something small.”
Grant smiled politely.
“You could buy a very nice house with half a million dollars.”
“I had a house.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
He increased the offer.
Five hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
I still said no.
Then he changed tactics.
“Your family approached us last year.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“A woman named Elvira Miller.”
My mother.
“She said she controlled the ridge.”
“She doesn’t.”
“We discovered that.”
“When?”
“During title review.”
