“A few months before she passed, she came to my office at the courthouse,” Arthur said.

“She had drafted a document.”

My heart beat faster against my ribs. “A new will?”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Something much stronger than a will.”

“Wills can be contested by greedy relatives,” he explained. “They can drag things out in probate court for years.”

He paused, his eyes locked onto mine.

“She drafted a permanent conservation easement,” he said.

I stared at him, letting the words sink in.

“A conservation easement?” I asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “A conservation easement on the entire forty-eight acres of Blackthorn Ridge.”

“What does that mean for the sale?” I asked.

“It means whoever owns the land cannot develop it,” Arthur said.

“It legally prohibits any commercial subdivision, shopping centers, or major land alteration,” he added.

“If that easement is active, Graham’s secret development deal is dead,” I said.

“Exactly,” Arthur said. “The land would have to remain agricultural and historical forever.”

“Why didn’t Alden Vale tell me about this?” I asked. “He is the family lawyer.”

Arthur’s expression turned grim.