“I’ll pass. I’ve got plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
Now that was interesting. Since when did Derek care about my social calendar?
“Bridge with the girls, if you must know.”
“Cancel it.”
The order came out before he could stop himself, and I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean,” Derek backtracked quickly, “this is important family business. Surely your bridge game can wait.”
“Derek, I’m going to say this once. The farm is sold. The money is mine. And that is the end of the discussion.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He hung up before I could respond, which was probably wise because what I was planning to say would not have been suitable for polite company.
By eight o’clock, my neighbor Frank was knocking on my door with a concerned expression and a thermos of coffee.
“Maggie, you might want to take a look at this,” he said, handing me his tablet. “Posted on the community Facebook page about an hour ago.”
The post was from Tiffany, and it was a masterpiece of manipulation disguised as concern.
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