My husband had spent years warning me never to set foot on that farm. So after he passed away and the lawyer handed me the key, saying that from now on the place belonged to me, I was ready to sell it right away and put everything behind me. But before making my final decision, I still wanted to see it once for myself. When the door opened, I finally understood why, all those years, he had never wanted me to set foot there.

“They suspect oil. They don’t know how much. Or where the mother lode sits.”

I turned slowly.

“Why gather all this down here?”

Ellis exhaled through his nose. “Because your husband knew men like his brothers don’t stop at one legal filing. And because oil wasn’t the only thing he was preparing for.”

He opened another cabinet.

Inside were folders labeled with the brothers’ names.

Not childish dossiers. Not rumor. Documents. Bank records. Emails. Sworn statements. Copies of civil filings from Ontario and British Columbia. Old partnership agreements. Tax irregularities. Correspondence with regulatory bodies. Evidence of questionable conduct layered over decades with the patience of a man who had never intended to use it lightly, but had no intention of dying without leverage.

“Good God,” I said.

“He thought they’d come after you,” Ellis said simply. “He wanted you to have options.”

I sat down at the metal desk in the center of the room because my knees had started to go loose.

Your husband knew what he was doing.

Your husband anticipated this exact situation.