My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“That was Evan’s land,” Arthur said. I could hear him pacing on the other end of the line, his breath heavy and uneven against the mouthpiece. “He spent six months setting up that deal, talking to the local board, getting the estimates for the ditch work.”
“Evan did not have the financing,” I said.
“He had the family,” Arthur barked. “You always did find a way to take what your brother deserved.”
“The bank sent his mail to my gate,” I said. “Why is his name on letters sent to my address, Arthur?”
The line went quiet for three long seconds. I knew exactly what he was doing on the other end of the connection, rubbing his temples with his thick thumb until the skin went red.
“You do not worry about the mail,” he said. “You just worry about how you are going to pay the taxes on forty acres of dry dirt when the county comes calling.”
“I have the funds,” I said.
“We will see about that,” he said. “We will see how long you stay put out there.”
