Alden let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders sagging against the seat.

“It’s a shell company,” he said. “I set it up for Graham three months ago.”

The confession hung in the cold air between us.

I looked at Alden, the man my grandmother had trusted with her most private affairs.

“You knew,” I said.

“I didn’t know the extent of it, Clara, I swear,” Alden said, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. “Graham told me he was using it to purchase adjacent parcels for horse trails.”

“He lied to you,” I said. “He’s partnering with Marisol to develop the ridge.”

“Marisol has the capital, and Graham has the political connections to push the re-zoning through,” Alden said. “They need this estate to connect the state highway to the new commercial district.”

“And Celeste?”

“Celeste is the one who introduced them,” Alden said. “She gets a fifteen percent cut of the development rights once the sale closes.”

I looked out the window.

The red taillights of Graham’s truck were disappearing down the long, winding driveway of the ridge.