Forty-two years does not disappear.
Neither do seven years of betrayal.
We were learning the difference between starting over and pretending nothing happened.
Arthur Bell entered with the trust documents.
Ava whispered, “Is this boring?”
Melissa smiled.
“Very.”
“Can I have cake afterward?”
“Absolutely.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“The Grant Family Land Trust currently holds twenty-three parcels with an estimated combined market value of ninety-four million dollars.”
Even knowing the number, hearing it aloud felt absurd.
I still clipped grocery coupons.
Arthur continued.
“Under the 1981 amendment, control transfers when the first qualifying great-grandchild of William Grant reaches eight years old, provided all living descendant branches have been identified.”
Ava swung her feet beneath the chair.
Everyone else leaned forward.
“The qualifying branches are as follows.”
He looked at Samuel.
“Samuel Thomas Grant.”
Then Melissa.
“Melissa Grant Brooks.”
Then Claire.
“Claire Ellis Morgan.”
Three branches.
Through them, Rachel, Ava, and
