A Stranger Handed Me a Blue Box at Church and Said, “You’ll Need This Tonight”—I Wish I’d Opened It Sooner

Emails to a development company about property surveys I’d never authorized. Bank statements showing thirty-three thousand dollars in cash withdrawals over six months. Contact information for a criminal defense attorney in New York City who specialized in organized crime cases.

Journal entries in Blair’s handwriting documenting suspicious activity on our property—tire tracks near hidden cave systems, strangers at odd hours, her growing conviction that something dangerous was happening on our land. The final journal entry was dated one week before her death: “If something happens to me, Simon will know where to find it. The truth is rooted.”

The wedding tree.

Where we’d carved our initials twenty years ago, where our love had literally taken root in the soil of this property. I couldn’t dig at night with unknown people potentially watching, so I forced myself to wait for dawn. But dawn brought Amber instead, arriving with expensive coffee and that practiced smile, talking about how the property was too much responsibility, how Cascade Development’s offer could set me up comfortably, how Mom would have wanted me to be practical.

“I’ve been thinking about what we discussed,” she said, settling into Blair’s chair like she belonged there. “This land, Dad. You’re struggling.

Let us help you.”

Continue reading…