“You’re trying to liquidate his land before the probate court can review the trust,” I said.

“It’s our land now,” Dorian replied. “Your mother agreed to the sale.”

I looked at my mother, waiting for her to meet my eyes, but she looked down at the floor.

“Is that true, Mom?” I asked. “You’re letting him sell the ridge?”

“We need the money, Maren,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind outside. “Brielle has… there are expenses. Dorian says this is the only way.”

“Brielle’s credit card bills are not an emergency,” I said.

“Don’t speak about your sister like that,” my mother said, a sudden spark of defensiveness in her eyes.

“She’s your stepdaughter, Mom, and she’s thirty years old,” I said. “This cabin was the only thing Dad wanted to keep intact.”

Dorian took a step toward me, his expensive leather boots creaking on the floorboards.

“Your father was a paranoid old man who hoarded dirt,” Dorian said. “The market is peaking right now.”

“The deed restrictions prevent subdivision,” I said, leaning on the military intelligence training that taught me to state facts without emotion. “Mr. Voss confirmed it.”