“They bought a parcel they cannot possess, demolish, develop, alter, or interfere with during the term of my natural life without my consent.”
Frank exhaled. “And Kyle represented clean title?”
“That appears to be the case.”
“That is a catastrophic title defect.”
“Yes.”
“That is also fraud if he knew.”
“It may be negligent misrepresentation if he didn’t. Either way, it is not my problem to solve.”
Frank was silent again. Behind him, faintly, I could hear office sounds: a printer starting, someone speaking down a hallway, the normal machinery of a life I had left behind. “Walt,” he said at last, softer now, “you protected yourself because you thought this might happen someday.”
“I protected the cabin because Eleanor asked me whether we could trust Kyle to do the right thing if we were both gone.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her I hoped so.”
The answer sat between us.
Frank understood. He had watched me raise Kyle through college debts, failed ventures, late rent, impulsive investments, and promises that always sounded sincere until the next emergency. He had seen me defend my son too many times. He had also seen Eleanor’s face the year Kyle borrowed thirty thousand dollars for a business course he never finished and forgot to call his mother on her birthday the same month.
“I’ll pull everything,” Frank said. “Don’t say anything to Kyle until I call you back.”
“He’s coming Thursday with the development people for a final walk-through.”
“Of course he is.”
