Robert walked in mid-40s, sharp suit, calm eyes that had probably seen their share of family meltdowns.
“Captain Whitmore,” he said, shaking my hand firmly. “Your father spoke highly of you. He trusted you’d be the one to handle this.”
Hearing that steadied me.
“He left me more than I realized,” I said, sliding the metal box across the table.
Robert opened it with practiced care, scanning documents quickly. He stopped at the geological survey, eyebrows lifting.
“Well,” he murmured, “your sister’s in for a surprise. This isn’t just a cabin. These mineral rights alone are worth tens of millions. Feldspar, granite…”
He tapped the lithium report.
“This could make you wealthier than any penthouse ever could.”
I leaned back, arms crossed.
“Megan already sent her people snooping. She’s trying to box me out.”
Robert nodded.
“I suspected as much. That’s why your father came to me. He knew Megan’s greed would surface, and he wanted protections in place.”
He pulled out a thick folder and slid it toward me.
“Here. Deeds, titles, mineral rights, all signed, notarized, and filed. You are the sole legal owner. No one can challenge that unless they want to burn through years in court and lose.”
The weight of those words settled like armor across my chest. For the first time since the funeral, I felt like the ground under me was solid.
Robert studied me.
