PART5

The document listed the proposed payment recipients.

Derek Morrison: $2,000,000.

Britney Keller Morrison: $1,500,000.

Sandra Keller: $750,000.

Ridgerest Development consulting and transaction expenses: $250,000.

The remaining amount was described as being subject to further negotiations.

I looked up.

“Why is Sandra receiving seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

Harrison adjusted his glasses.

“That’s an excellent question.”

“She’s not related to Frank.”

“That doesn’t appear to have concerned whoever prepared this document.”

I turned another page.

There was a section titled Family Transition Agreement.

It described me as a retired landowner who had voluntarily agreed to relinquish control of the ranch.

I read the sentence again.

Voluntarily.

I had never agreed to anything.

Then I noticed something else.

The document included a photograph of my driver’s license.

I felt my stomach tighten.

“Where did they get this?”

Harrison examined it.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

I sat quietly for a moment.

Then I remembered something.

About five months earlier, Derek had asked me to help him complete paperwork for a new insurance policy.

He had said the company needed identification from both parents because of an old beneficiary arrangement.

I had given him a photocopy of my driver’s license.

He had promised to return it.

I never thought to ask.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I think I know how they got my identification.”

I explained everything.

He wrote it down.

“Don’t assume anything yet,” he said. “But this gives us another avenue to investigate.”

He closed the folder.

“Georgia, I want you to understand something. You are not obligated to protect your son from the consequences of his own decisions.”

I looked at him.

“I know.”

But knowing something and accepting it were two different things.

Derek was still my child.

Even at thirty-eight years old.

Even after the wedding.

Even after the emails.

Even after seeing his father’s name on a document that should never have existed.

A mother doesn’t stop loving her child simply because he disappoints her.

But she can stop giving him opportunities to hurt her.

Two days later, I received a phone call from an unfamiliar number.

“Mrs. Morrison?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Daniel Price. I’m the regional acquisitions director for Ridgerest Development.”

I stood near the kitchen window.

“What can I do for you?”

“I understand there has been some confusion regarding the proposed Morrison Ranch transaction.”

“There’s no confusion. I never authorized a sale.”

He paused.

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

I waited.

“Mrs. Morrison, we were under the impression that your son had authority to negotiate on behalf of the family.”

“My son has no authority to sell my land.”

“I understand that now.”

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“How much money have you paid him?”

There was a long silence.

Then Daniel answered.

“We issued an advance payment of $75,000 for preliminary consulting and site coordination.”

I closed my eyes.

“To whom?”

“To an entity called Morrison Land Advisory.”

I had never heard of it.

“Who owns that company?”

“Our records list Derek Morrison as its managing member.”

I felt sick.

“Did you verify his authority?”

“Mrs. Morrison, we received documentation that appeared to support his position. We’re reviewing everything now.”

“Well, review it carefully. Because I never signed an agreement with your company.”

“Understood.”

He sounded uncomfortable.

“Would you be willing to meet with us?”

“With my attorney present.”

“Of course.”

I ended the call and immediately contacted Harrison.

He wasn’t surprised.

“An advance payment,” he repeated. “That’s significant.”

“Can they get their money back?”

“That depends on the facts and the agreements. But the fact that someone accepted payment based on an alleged authority they didn’t possess is something we need to examine.”

I looked out across the pasture.

For the first time in forty years, I wondered whether my home was going to become the center of a legal battle.

Then I remembered something.

The original ranch records.

Frank had kept everything.

Every deed.

Every receipt.

Every bank statement.

Every handwritten agreement.

He had always said that a good rancher should know exactly what he owns and exactly what he owes.

I walked to the old office in the barn.

Behind a filing cabinet, I found the wooden box he had built himself.

Inside were decades of documents.

At the bottom was a sealed envelope.

My name was written across it.

GEORGIA.

I recognized Frank’s handwriting immediately.

I sat down on the old wooden chair and carefully opened it.

Inside was a letter.

“Georgia,

If you’re reading this, something has probably happened that neither of us wanted.

I know Derek will grow up believing the ranch belongs to him. I hope he grows into a man who understands what that responsibility means.

But never confuse inheritance with entitlement.

The land should go to someone who respects it, protects it and understands the people whose lives depend on it.

If Derek becomes that man, give him every opportunity to prove it.

If he doesn’t, don’t destroy yourself trying to make him one.

I love you.

Frank.”

I pressed the letter against my chest.

For twenty-two years, I had carried the guilt of losing Frank.

But now, reading his words, I understood something.

He had known I would face difficult decisions someday.

And he had trusted me to make them.

I folded the letter carefully and placed it inside my purse.

Then I called Harrison.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Georgia?”

“I want to move forward with the investigation.”

“Are you certain?”

I looked toward the ranch sign outside.

The M still leaned slightly to the left.

“More certain than I’ve ever been.”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…