“It grants the entire north ridge to the community as a permanent burial ground,” I said.

“Not just the family,” Lydia added, pointing to a paragraph near the bottom.

“It says the land can never be divided, sold, or used for private commerce,” I said.

“This means Warren’s deeds were completely illegal from the start,” Lydia said.

“He knew this document would destroy his entire deal with the developers,” I said.

“And Marcus knew it too,” Lydia said.

We carefully rolled the parchment back into the oilcloth.

“Let’s get back to the house,” I said.

We walked down the ridge in silence, the rain slowly slackening to a drizzle.

When we entered the parlor, Aunt Caroline was still sitting in the velvet chair.

She had a cup of lukewarm tea in her lap, her hands still trembling.

She looked at the oilcloth bundle under my arm.

“You found it,” Caroline said softly.

“It was exactly where Warren said it would be,” I said.

Lydia sat at the dining table and began making photocopies of the document with her portable scanner.

“This changes the entire legal landscape,” Lydia said.