“What investment group?”

“Just a private buyer looking for clean commercial land off the main road,” Robert said, adjusting his watch band again.

“He offered a fair price for a clean title.”

“The farm isn’t for sale,” I said.

“It will be once Judge Simmons sees who actually handled this family’s affairs,” Robert said.

He turned on his heel, opened his car door, and drove off down Cedar Lane without looking back.

At six o’clock my mother sent a short text asking me to meet her at the Portsmouth Diner on High Street.