Of course they were. They weren’t here for Joshua, or to meet the wife their brother had loved for twenty-four years. They were here for the suddenly valuable property.
I glanced at the laptop on the desk. Whatever answers I needed were more likely to be in that machine than on the porch with the men outside. Ignoring the increasingly aggressive knocking, I crossed to the desk, opened the computer, and entered the password Joshua had given me.
The screen came to life immediately and opened to a folder labeled For Catherine.
Inside were hundreds of video files, each marked with a date, beginning two weeks earlier, the day after his funeral, and continuing a full year into the future. With trembling fingers, I clicked the first one.
Joshua’s face filled the screen. Not the pale, weakened version of his final months, but healthy, vibrant, clearly recorded some time ago. He smiled directly at the camera, that crooked grin that had always made my heart skip.
“Hello, Cat. If you’re watching this, then I’m gone, and you came to the farm despite my years of making you promise not to.”
He chuckled softly.
“I should have known you wouldn’t be able to resist, especially after Winters told you about it.”
A lump formed in my throat. Even now, he knew me so well.
“I’ve made a video for every day of your first year without me. One year of me keeping you company while you grieve. One year of explaining everything I should have told you while I was alive.”
He looked down briefly, then back up with determination.
“Starting with why I bought back the farm I swore I’d never set foot on again.”
The knocking outside had stopped. Through the window I could see the brothers returning to their vehicle, retrieving documents, conferring with stern expressions.
“Three years ago, I was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a heart condition I inherited from my father. The doctors gave me two to five years. I chose not to tell you or Jenna. I didn’t want pity, and I didn’t want our final years overshadowed by death.”
His eyes softened.
“I wanted to live fully with you until the end, not slowly die in front of you.”
Shock and anger surged through me. He had hidden his diagnosis. He had made medical decisions without me. He had denied me the chance to prepare, to cherish our last years knowingly.
“I know you’re angry right now. You have every right to be. But I hope you’ll understand that I made this choice out of love, not deception.”
Outside, the men were making phone calls now, pacing the gravel drive with the frustrated energy of thwarted entitlement.
“When I got my diagnosis, I decided to use whatever time I had left to create something meaningful for you. You always loved horses. You always talked about having land someday where you could raise them. So I found the last place anyone would expect me to go, the farm I fled at eighteen, vowing never to return.”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“What my brothers don’t know is that I legally bought the farm from our father before he died. The old man was broke after years of failed schemes, drinking away the family money. He sold it to me for a fraction of its worth, desperate for cash, and swore me to secrecy from my brothers, who still believed they would inherit it someday.”
That explained the legal challenge. They thought they had a claim to land Joshua had purchased fair and square.
“The farm was in ruins when I bought it, Cat, just like when I was a kid. But this time I had the resources to transform it. Every business trip in the last three years, I was here overseeing renovations, building something for you.”
Outside, the brothers had approached the door again. This time Robert held a document up to the window for me to see, a court order of some kind.
“My brothers will come for it. They never wanted the farm until last year, when oil was discovered in the region. Suddenly the worthless property they mocked me for buying became valuable. They’ll try everything to take it from you.”
One of the brothers was on the phone again, his expression triumphant as he ended the call.
“In the bottom drawer of this desk is a blue folder with every legal document you need. The farm is unquestionably yours. I made sure of it.”
Joshua’s face softened again.
“But Cat, whether you keep it or sell it is entirely your choice. I built this place for you, filled it with beauty for you, but I don’t want it to become a burden.”
A vehicle was coming up the driveway now, a police cruiser with Royal Canadian Mounted Police markings. The brothers watched its approach with satisfied expressions.
“One last thing. In the stables, you’ll find six horses, all breeds you’ve admired over the years. The staff I hired will continue caring for them whether you’re here or not. They’re my last gift to you, along with the means to enjoy them.”
The video ended, freezing on Joshua’s smiling face just as the knocking resumed, more official this time.
“Mrs. Mitchell, RCMP. We need you to open the door, please.”
With a deep breath, I closed the laptop, retrieved the blue folder from the drawer, and went to face whatever came next.
As I reached for the handle, my phone rang. Jenna. Our daughter, calling from home.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Jenna, now’s not a good time.”
“Mom.”
Her voice was tight with anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Dad’s farm or the oil? His brothers just called me, offering a fair settlement if I help them contest the will. What the hell is going on?”
So they had already reached out to my daughter. The realization ignited something protective and fierce inside me. They weren’t just coming after me. They were going after my grieving child.
“I’ll explain everything later. But Jenna, don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything. These men are not our friends.”
“Mom, if there’s money involved—”
“This isn’t about money,” I cut in, surprising myself with the force of my own voice. “This is about what your father wanted. Please trust me on this.”
After a moment of silence, she sighed.
“Fine. But call me back as soon as you can.”
I hung up and opened the door to face a young RCMP officer flanked by three Mitchell men whose expressions ranged from smug to openly hostile.
“Mrs. Mitchell, I’m Constable Wilson. These gentlemen have a court order requesting an inspection of the property as part of an ongoing estate dispute.”
I smiled calmly, channeling the strength Joshua had always admired in me.
“Of course, Constable. But first, I think you should see these.”
I held out the blue folder.
“My husband anticipated this exact situation.”
