Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table

“Fay farm?” he asked.

I nodded.

“This is the line,” he said.

“The new developer wants the demolition perimeter set fifty feet into the county easement.”

“For a fence,” I said.

“For the heavy equipment,” he corrected.

“I’m marking where the existing fencing comes down first.”

I looked at the wooden stake.