road.
Four lanes.
The legend read:
HORIZON RIDGE WESTERN RESORT ACCESS CORRIDOR.
Rachel’s finger followed the line.
“This isn’t about thirty-two acres.”
Linda shook her head.
“No.”
“What is it?”
“Horizon Ridge bought the land south of Cedar Ridge last year. Their problem is highway access. The east entrance can’t support projected traffic without an interchange.”
I stared at the map.
“They want my farm.”
“They need part of it.”
“How much?”
“According to the feasibility study? Eighty-six acres.”
Rachel looked at her.
“And the HOA option?”
“If Cedar Ridge establishes the original access agreement as valid, Horizon Ridge gets the corridor.”
“For $1.8 million?”
Linda nodded.
“And Cedar Ridge?”
“Gets a new clubhouse, road improvements, and revenue participation from the resort.”
Suddenly every strange thing from the past six months made sense.
The offers.
The letters about historical access.
The maze.
The urgency.
The threats.
But Rachel was
