“The original deed from 1890 has a reversionary clause, Arthur,” Marjorie said, her eyes gleaming with a sudden, desperate energy. “If the chapel fails to maintain a active congregation of a certain size, the land reverts to the primary donor’s heirs.”

“Which is Graham,” I said, realizing her plan.

“Which is Graham,” Marjorie confirmed. “And we have a buyer ready to develop the entire waterfront.”

“This is a house of God,” Pastor Whitcomb said, his voice trembling with anger.

“It is a pile of old stones, Arthur,” Marjorie said.

Suddenly, Julian’s phone began to vibrate on the table.

The screen lit up with an unknown number from a local area code.

Julian picked it up, his eyes remaining on Marjorie.

“Voss,” Julian said into the receiver.

He listened for a moment, his face growing pale.

“Are you sure?” Julian asked the caller.

He looked over at me, his eyes wide with a new concern.

“Evelyn,” Julian said, lowering the phone slightly but not hanging up. “You need to see this.”

I reached out and took the phone from Julian’s hand.