The project was his attempt to turn regret into something useful.
But there was a problem.
The money.
The land was paid for, but the construction estimate was enormous.
More than $400,000.
My $43,000 wouldn’t come close.
Frank sighed.
“He wanted to build it himself little by little.”
“He was dying.”
“He knew.”
“Then why buy twelve acres?”
Frank smiled.
“Because Daniel had never once in his life adjusted a dream to match common sense.”
Mom laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had heard from her.
Then someone knocked on the shed door.
A man in a suit stood outside.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
He handed me a business card.
“Evan Cole. I handled your father’s estate.”
My pulse jumped.
“I thought Frank handled everything.”
“Not everything.”
Of course.
Evan opened a folder.
“Your father left instructions concerning a life-insurance policy.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
