Helen turned another page.
“To my husband, Samuel Preston, I leave the family property located in Osage County, Oklahoma. Eight hundred acres, including the farmhouse and all outbuildings. County-assessed value: one hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
Silence.
Marcus blinked.
“Wait… what?”
Helen looked up.
“The property in Osage County. Your mother inherited it from her grandparents. It has been in the Caldwell family since 1947.”
Marcus slowly leaned back, and I watched his face move through several stages: confusion, then calculation, then something that settled into contempt.
“A farm? That’s it? Mom left him a falling-down house and eight hundred acres of nothing?”
He laughed.
Short.
Ugly.
Helen’s expression never changed.
“The will is very clear. Your mother was very specific about how she wanted her estate divided.”
“Specific,” Marcus repeated, as if the word itself offended him.
He looked at me.
“Dad, you’re sixty-eight years old. Are you seriously going to live in a collapsing shack in the middle of nowhere?”
“I haven’t even seen it yet,” I said.
Helen slid a cream-colored envelope across the table.
Jenny’s handwriting was unmistakable.
Sam — Open this at the farm. Trust me.
I picked it up.
My hands weren’t entirely steady.
“There’s one more thing,” Helen said. “Your wife left explicit instructions that this sealed letter was to be opened on the property. Not before.”
Marcus shot to his feet.
“I’m getting a lawyer.”
“That is your right. However, your mother’s will was drafted by one of the best estate attorneys in Oklahoma. It’s airtight. You’ll spend a great deal of money only to end up with the exact same result.
