“From the north creek bed to the tree line along the ridge.”

“That’s right,” Pembroke said, uncapping a heavy silver fountain pen.

“This agreement permanently restricts commercial development on those timber parcels.”

“No condos, no multi-family units, and no commercial clearing for ninety-nine years.”

He laid the paper flat across the arm of the porch chair and signed his name on the marked line.

“Brandon was offering me thirty percent of a ghost project built on a mud flat,” Pembroke said quietly, looking out toward the dock.

“Your father knew this shore couldn’t support heavy concrete footings without wrecking the water table.”