Rafael climbed down and carried up a heavy steel box, and my brass key opened it on the first turn. Inside were Harold’s true will, a small recorder, and a folder from an attorney named Ellen Brooks. Months before he died, Harold had noticed his signature on papers he never signed. He quietly hired Ellen, who recorded a meeting where Marcus, Vanessa, and Whitmore planned to declare him mentally unfit and swap in a new will.

I played the recorder right there in the clearing. Marcus’s voice filled the air, laughing about sending his mother to the cabin because “she will be grateful for scraps.” Vanessa went white. Whitmore tried to snatch the box, but Rafael stepped between them. Ellen Brooks arrived minutes later, having been called by Lucia on my instruction, and two deputies followed behind her.

The real will left me the house, the accounts, and the business, with a fair trust for Marcus that would unlock only if he proved his honesty. Whitmore was arrested for fraud and forgery, and he lost his license within the month. Marcus begged, and I told him I loved him but could not trust him. He wept in the dirt where Harold’s secret had waited, and for once, he had nothing smooth to say.

I returned to Cedar Heights, but I refused to take back the cabin. It stayed with Rafael, Lucia, and Isabella, and I hired Rafael to run the property maintenance for the business. Marcus took a job, attended counseling, and repaid what he had taken, and we speak carefully now. Every Sunday, I drive to Pine Hollow for dinner, and Isabella meets me at the door. “The floor still talks, lady,” she says.