That evening I called Trent. “How would you feel about a change of work?”

He arrived three days later. I watched his face change when he saw the cabin, the ridge, and the lake spread below. I showed him Eleanor’s plans and the trust she’d created to fund the construction.

Six modest cabins. A workshop. A shared porch looking out over the water. He studied every page with the same attention he must once have given real estate contracts, but there was no greed in his face now.

Only thought.

“A retreat,” he said. “For men starting over.”

“For men who need a place to get steady.”