After they left, I walked back to the main house, my mind racing.

I needed to find what Eleanor had left for me before Graham or Celeste found a way to tie up the property in probate.

I went up to Grandmother Eleanor’s old sewing room on the third floor.

The air inside was cold and smelled of dried lavender and old paper.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, tarnished brass key Eleanor had handed me in the hospital.

*“Keep it safe,”* she had whispered. *“They will try to tear this place apart.”*

I approached the cherrywood secretary desk in the corner.

The bottom drawer had a small, concealed keyhole hidden behind a sliding wooden panel.

I inserted the key and turned it.

The lock gave a heavy, metallic click.

Inside the drawer lay a thick leather-bound ledger and a stack of correspondence.

I pulled out the papers, my hands trembling slightly in the drafty room.

The letters were addressed to Graham and our stepmother, Celeste.

I turned the page of a financial statement dated three months ago.

At the top of the document, a name was printed in bold black ink: *Cypress Meridian*.

Attached to it was a map of Blackthorn Ridge, marked with survey lines that did not match the county records.

I saw Graham’s signature at the bottom of a preliminary purchase agreement for the entire forty-eight acres.

The buyer listed was Cypress Meridian, but the transaction amount was a fraction of the land’s actual worth.

Why would Graham sell the land to an unknown entity for next to nothing?

Downstairs, the heavy front door creaked open, and the sound of wet footsteps echoed in the foyer.

“Celeste, did you find the spare keys?” Graham’s voice carried up the stairwell.

I froze, holding my breath.

The wooden floorboards downstairs groaned as Graham walked toward the kitchen.