Why would my parents be so desperate for Trevor’s project to succeed?

My phone buzzed again on the passenger seat.

I glanced down and saw it was a text from a real estate agent I knew in town.

I tapped the screen at a red light.

“Meredith, I saw some public filings today. Did your dad sign a guarantee recently?” the text read.

My heart skipped a beat.

I drove faster, the tires squealing slightly on the sharp curves of Cedar Hollow Road.

The trees closed in over the asphalt, blocking out the last of the sunlight.

As I rounded the final bend before my property, I saw the orange strobe light of a flatbed truck parked in the gravel.

And standing near the gate, holding a clipboard, was Trevor.

Beside him stood my mother, her head bowed as he pointed toward my woods.

I slammed my car door.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward them.

The truck engine idled, sending a steady vibration through the soles of my shoes and filling the cold mountain air with the smell of diesel.