I read the page twice, and my hands began to shake. It was a county burial record from 1962, listing four names and a plot beneath what was now Bradley’s deep end. The elderly woman said quietly, “I am Agnes Marlowe. My parents and my two little brothers are buried under that water.” Bradley lunged forward, shouting that it was a lie, but an officer stepped in front of him. Courtney had gone completely silent.

Dad walked to the shallow end and pointed at a rusted brass plate half buried beside the drain line. “I noticed this on the first day,” he said. “Then I dug out the old pump trench and found the foundation of a stone vault.” Agnes held up another document, and my pulse quickened. “That is not all,” she said. “Ask Bradley who signed my family’s land away in 1974.”