I peeled off my wet coat and threw it onto the floor.

I sat down at the kitchen island under the bright overhead lights.

The cylinder was sealed tight.

I used the pocketknife to slice through the thick tape securing the rubber caps.

With a firm twist, the end cap popped off with a soft hiss of escaping air.

I tilted the tube.

A tightly rolled stack of thick, cream-colored paper slid out onto the counter.

I unrolled it carefully, flattening the edges with my palms.

The words *Conservation Easement* were printed at the top in elegant, faded ink.

At the bottom was Eleanor’s signature, bold and clear, alongside a county notary stamp.

“It’s the original,” Arthur said, looking over my shoulder. “Or rather, the official duplicate she kept.”

“Is it legal?” I asked.

“It has the seal,” he said, touching the raised gold emblem in the corner. “It restricts any commercial development on these forty-eight acres in perpetuity.”

I let out a long breath I felt like I had been holding for weeks.

“If Graham signs the deed over to Cypress Meridian tomorrow, the sale is void,” I said.