kitchen table.
Inez brought revised documents.
Dad placed Granddad’s letter in the middle.
“The land is worth something,” she explained. “Not enough to make anyone rich. Enough to create options.”
Sell it.
Lease it.
Develop part of it.
Preserve it.
Or use it.
Dad looked at Derek.
“Do you want the workshop?”
Derek hesitated.
“Yes.”
Then Dad looked at me.
“And you?”
I laughed.
“I’m an accountant. My last successful woodworking project was a birdhouse that leaned.”
“You were nine.”
“It still leaned.”
Dad did not smile.
“The letter says
