“What exactly could trigger them?”
Phoebe smiled without humor.
“Trying to destroy the estate.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“The northern acreage includes wetlands under a conservation agreement.
The rose gardens sit over a historic easement.
The boathouse shoreline falls under an environmental remediation covenant.
Everett consolidated the estate in a way that makes preservation relatively inexpensive.”
“And redevelopment?”
“Potentially catastrophic.”
“How catastrophic?”
“If someone began clearing land, excavating, demolishing protected structures, or converting the property into a commercial resort without following specific procedures… millions.”
I sat back.
For the first time in weeks, I could breathe.
“Grandfather built a poison pill.”
“No,” Phoebe corrected.
“He built a choice.”
I looked at her.
“Anyone who respects the property inherits a beautiful estate.
Anyone who tries to strip it for parts inherits consequences.”
I almost laughed.
That sounded exactly like him.
But then Phoebe’s expression became serious.
“There’s more.”
