Chapter 7 - The Farmhouse"The stolen items from the farmhouse," he said. "Why?"
"We needed money," Mom said.
"For what?"
Silence. Grandpa tapped the hotel location on the tracking map. "Who is Desmond Falk?"
Mom froze. I vaguely recognized the name — a real estate developer. Brynn looked confused.
"The SUV stopped at a hotel where Falk was attending a development conference," Grandpa continued. "Two days later, you went to the county records office. Yesterday, you went to the farmhouse."
Mom stood abruptly. "We should leave."
"No," Grandpa said. "Now."
He opened another folder — property surveys, a proposed purchase agreement, and a signature.
His signature. Except I knew immediately it wasn't his.
"You forged this?" I whispered.
Mom looked at Brynn. Brynn backed away. "Don't look at me."
"You attempted to sell the farmhouse," Grandpa said, his voice turning icy.
Mom exploded. "It's falling apart! You don't use it! The land alone is worth almost three million dollars. Falk was willing to buy everything."
"It isn't yours."
"It was going to become mine!"
"No." That single word silenced her. Grandpa leaned forward. "The farmhouse was never going to you." He pointed to the trust document in front of me. "It belongs to Amara."
My breath caught. "What?"
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"Technically," he said, "it's belonged to you since your grandmother died. I retained lifetime management rights."
Mom stared at me with open hatred. And suddenly I understood — the SUV hadn't created any of this. The car had just exposed it. She didn't resent the vehicle because Brynn needed transportation. She resented what it represented. She already knew Grandma had protected something from her, and she'd spent years telling herself it should have been hers instead.
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