“Maybe.”
“He would.”
She nodded.
“Then prove it.”
So we went looking.
The farm office contained eighty-seven years of paper.
Tax receipts.
Seed invoices.
Equipment warranties.
Soil tests.
Lease agreements.
Handwritten cattle records from my grandfather.
Dad kept everything.
Boxes filled two filing cabinets and six shelves.
We searched for hours.
Nothing.
At 9:30 p.m., I remembered the steel cabinet.
It sat behind an old workbench in the machine barn.
Dad called it the fire box.
Not actually fireproof.
Just heavy.
Inside were old insurance documents and property papers.
I hadn’t opened it since his funeral.
The key still hung above the office door.
Third drawer.
A folder marked CEDAR RIDGE.
Inside were letters from Charles Varden.
Offer: $70,000.
Rejected.
Offer: $100,000.
Rejected.
Offer: $175,000.
Rejected.
Then a fourth letter.
No dollar amount.
Just a request for a meeting.
Attached was Dad’s handwritten note.
Varden wants temporary farm access for “survey/testing.” Said county road plans may change. Told him NO.
