For the first time in weeks, the Walker kitchen filled with laughter.
Then Sam looked toward the bank letter beneath the salt shaker.
Thirteen days.
Twenty-eight thousand four hundred dollars.
Whatever fortune the documents might eventually uncover, it wouldn't arrive quickly enough to solve his immediate problem.
And Grant Vale knew that.
The following morning, Grant made Sam an offer.
He arrived shortly after eight in a black luxury SUV, accompanied by a lawyer who introduced herself as Meredith Kane.
Grant stepped onto the farmhouse porch wearing a navy suit and an expression far less arrogant than the one he'd displayed at the auction.
Sam opened the door.
“Morning.”
Grant smiled.
“Sam. Thought we should talk.”
The old farmer looked toward Meredith.
“About the tractor?”
“About the misunderstanding.”
Sam leaned against the doorframe.
“What misunderstanding?”
Grant took a breath.
“The documents in the engine are family papers. We would prefer to resolve their ownership privately.”
Sam nodded.
“With lawyers?”
“Of course.”
“Good. My daughter already called one.”
Grant's smile tightened.
Meredith stepped forward.
“Mr. Walker, our client is prepared to offer compensation in exchange for the return of the discovered materials and a release of any disputed claims arising from the auction.”
Sam studied her.
“How much?”
Grant answered.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
For several seconds, the porch was silent.
Sam stared.
Then looked toward the black SUV.
Finally, he asked, “For an old box nobody wanted yesterday?”
Grant's jaw tightened.
“It's a sentimental family matter.”
Sam nodded slowly.
“Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of sentiment.”
Meredith maintained a professional expression.
“We're offering a practical resolution.”
Sam looked toward her.
“Does that release include any rights connected to the certificates?”
The lawyer hesitated.
“The proposed agreement would resolve certain specified matters. You'd have the opportunity to review it with counsel.”
Sam nodded.
“Then send it to my lawyer.”
Grant's expression hardened.
“Sam, your bank payment is due next week.”
The old farmer went still.
Rachel appeared behind him.
She had been listening from the hallway.
“How do you know that?”
Grant glanced toward her.
“It's a small county.”
Rachel stepped onto the porch.
“Then you also know my father hasn't agreed to sell anything.”
The executive smiled.
“Rachel, I'm trying to help.”
She stared.
“By offering him fifty thousand dollars for documents you laughed at yesterday?”
Grant's face reddened.
For a moment, he seemed ready to argue.
Then Sam spoke quietly.
“Grant.”