The Kearney farm was sitting on a huge amount of equity.

Walt was sixty-eight, living alone in an empty house, and land companies were actively sending glossy mailers to local farmers.

“Are you and Luke taking over the property eventually?” Sarah asked.

“That was always the assumption,” I said.

“Luke grew up in that white farmhouse.”

I looked at the huge dollar figures on my screen.

If Walt really believed I wanted to pave over his legacy and sell it off in pieces, he would never let the deed pass to us.

He would sell it to a stranger just to keep it out of my hands.