“If the land is subdivided or sold to private developers, the lease offer is voided,” I said.

“Dorian didn’t know about the water,” Voss said. “Or if he did, he didn’t care about a thirty-year payout. He wanted the quick cash from selling the parcels off individually to pay his creditors.”

“He was going to ruin the entire reserve just to fund Brielle’s lifestyle,” I said.

“And he needed to do it before you came home and looked at the books,” Voss agreed.

He opened the third document.

It was the original, unamended trust agreement, signed by my father and witnessed by Voss himself.

The document explicitly stated that I was the sole executor and that the property could not be transferred, sold, or modified without my direct, written authorization.

“The deeds Dorian filed last week are complete fabrications,” Voss said. “He must have forged your father’s signature on a backdated transfer deed.”

“Let’s go ask the man who helped him do it,” I said.

Voss closed his laptop and stood up, his face grim.

We walked back down the hall and entered the interrogation room.