Mr. Albright met us at the county records office shortly after nine the next morning. Raymond had arrived before us, carrying the original maps in a stiff cardboard case. He stood near the entrance while June checked the papers in her purse, making sure she had the bank statements, Grandpa's notebook, and the email from Flint Ridge.
The county clerk led us to a counter at the back, where an older computer sat beside stacks of deed books. Mr. Albright had requested the recorded deed, the original survey, and any later filings connected to the north parcel. The clerk brought out the records one at a time, placing each document on a padded surface.
June leaned forward as the first deed was opened.
The description matched the boundary Raymond had shown us. It followed the drainage ditch, turned at the windbreak, and continued toward the county road. The parcel had been transferred into the trust according to the recorded documents, and the legal description had not changed.
Then the clerk produced the newer survey.
Its boundary line differed from the older description. A filing stamp showed that a copy had been submitted as supporting material in a property inquiry, but there was no completed amendment to the deed itself. The county had not changed ownership or formally redrawn the parcel. The survey existed in the file, but it had not replaced the recorded legal description.
June let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since Raymond first showed her the moved marker.
"So the land was never officially transferred?"
"Correct," Mr. Albright said. "The trust remains in place. The newer survey did not, by itself, alter ownership."
"Then why did Grandpa keep worrying about it?"
"Because an inaccurate survey can create confusion during negotiations. If a buyer believes a boundary lies somewhere it does not, the price and proposed access arrangements may be affected. Your grandfather wanted the discrepancy resolved before anyone proceeded."
Raymond pointed to the coordinates on the page. He explained where the marker had stood and how the original measurements aligned with the old deed. The clerk listened, then made a note for the file.
"We can provide certified copies of the recorded deed and the filings," she said. "If you believe a survey was submitted incorrectly, you can ask the appropriate office to review it. We cannot determine intent from the map alone."
Mr. Albright thanked her. He requested the certified copies and asked the clerk to document which survey had been filed and which legal description remained controlling. He also arranged for the records to be sent to the independent surveyor for comparison.
Outside, Raymond stood beside the courthouse steps, watching traffic move through the intersection.
"Henry will be glad the deed wasn't changed," he said.
June looked at him. "You think he knew it hadn't been?"
"I think he hoped it hadn't. He told me he wanted to finish the correction before he died. He wasn't sure how much time he had."
The admission made June look away. She remembered Grandpa sitting at his kitchen table, pretending he had plenty of time while his hands shook around a coffee cup.
"I wish he'd told me he was worried," she said.
Raymond shook his head. "He wanted to spare you. That was his habit, for better or worse."
Mr. Albright gathered the documents. "Now we need to determine who provided the newer survey and whether anyone attempted to rely on it as though it were an accurate description of the property."
June glanced toward the road.
"Can we ask Carol?"
"We can ask her questions. We cannot assume her answers will establish the facts."
She nodded. "Then let's ask."
We returned to Mr. Albright's office, where he arranged a meeting for that afternoon. He contacted Carol and asked her to attend with any documents she had concerning the north parcel. He also invited Mark, making it clear that the purpose was to establish a timeline rather than negotiate a sale.
Carol arrived ten minutes late, carrying a leather handbag and a folder of her own. She greeted Mr. Albright stiffly, ignored Raymond, and sat opposite June.
"I don't understand why we're treating this like an investigation," she said. "The property was never sold. No one lost anything."
June placed the certified deed on the desk.
"The survey didn't match the recorded boundary. Grandpa knew that. Raymond told him. Why did you ask Raymond whether he would swear to where the old marker stood?"
Carol's eyes flickered toward him.
"I was trying to understand the situation."
"When?"
"I don't remember the exact date."
"Was it before or after you brought Grandpa the transfer agreement?"
Carol opened her folder and removed a sheet of paper. "I don't remember the exact sequence. I was helping him manage paperwork. There were bills, insurance notices, and all kinds of things to deal with."
June didn't raise her voice.
"Then let's use the dates."
Mr. Albright placed the earlier transfer proposal beside the newer survey. The transfer proposal had been prepared fourteen months earlier. Raymond's notebook recorded the moved marker eighteen months earlier, and the second survey had been commissioned afterward. Carol's visit to Raymond had occurred several weeks before Grandpa refused to sign the proposal.
The sequence was now visible on the desk.
Carol studied the papers.
"I never moved a fence post," she said.
"No one has established that you did," Mr. Albright replied. "The question is why you sought a transfer and why the company received a survey that differed from the recorded deed."
Carol's jaw tightened.
"Flint Ridge contacted the family. They wanted to know whether the property was available. I thought we should hear them out. My father was getting older, and the farm was becoming difficult to maintain."
June looked at her aunt.
"You said the land was a burden. But you wanted to transfer it to your own company."
"It was a holding company. That doesn't make it improper."
"Why was it necessary?"
Carol didn't answer immediately. She rearranged the papers, aligning their edges.
"My father didn't trust anybody with his affairs. He made everything difficult. I thought a temporary arrangement would allow us to negotiate without having to bother him every time a question came up."
"Did he agree to that arrangement?" June asked.
"No."
"Then it wasn't an arrangement. It was something you wanted."
Carol looked up sharply.
"You have no idea what it was like dealing with him. He could be stubborn, secretive, and impossible. Every decision took three conversations and a lawyer. He'd tell you one thing on Monday and change his mind on Friday."
Raymond spoke for the first time.
"Not about the boundary."
Carol turned toward him.
"You don't know everything that happened in that house."
"No," Raymond said. "But I know where the fence stood."
Mr. Albright raised a hand before the argument could continue.
"Let's stay with the documents. Carol, did you provide the newer survey to Flint Ridge?"
She stared at the paper.
"I may have forwarded what they sent me."
"Did you tell them it had not been verified against the recorded deed?"
"I assumed they would check."
"Did you tell them you had authority to negotiate for the trust?"
"I told them I was helping the family."
"That is not the same thing."
Carol pressed her lips together.
June waited. She wasn't enjoying the questions. I could see that. Every time Carol's voice sharpened, June's shoulders tightened, as though she were bracing for the old familiar accusation that she had caused trouble simply by asking for an answer.
Finally, Carol said, "I did not believe I was stealing anything. I thought the land would be sold eventually, and I wanted the family to be prepared."
"Prepared for what?" June asked.
"For the future."
"What future?"
Carol looked down at her hands.
For the first time, she seemed unable to find a phrase that would make her position sound reasonable.
Mark, who had been sitting silently near the window, spoke up.
"Carol, did you know the company expected a route decision?"
She turned toward him.
"What are you talking about?"
"The road. You told me the company was only making preliminary inquiries. But they were already discussing access arrangements."
Carol's expression changed.
"I never said they were only making preliminary inquiries."
"You told me there was no deadline."
"There wasn't a deadline for us."
Mark looked at June, then back at his aunt.
"You knew the route decision was coming."
Carol gathered her papers too quickly, and several sheets slid to the floor. I bent to retrieve them, but one document caught my eye before I handed it over.
It was an email printout from Robert Keene, dated three weeks before Grandpa died. The message referred to a proposed access agreement and stated that Flint Ridge would need a response before the next planning review. Beneath the printed email, someone had written in blue ink: Get June to sign if Henry cannot.
I handed the paper to Mr. Albright.
He read it without comment, then turned it toward Carol.
"Who wrote this?"
Carol stared at the note.
"I don't know."
The handwriting was familiar, but I couldn't tell whose it was. Mr. Albright asked her to leave the paper with him. She reluctantly agreed.
June looked at the date again.
Three weeks before Grandpa died. Before the will reading. Before the envelope had reached her hands. Someone had already considered the possibility that June might be asked to sign if Grandpa could not.
"Did you know about this note?" June asked Carol.
"No."
"Did you know someone was planning to use my name?"
"I never asked anyone to forge your signature."
June flinched at the word.
"Nobody said you did."
The meeting ended with more questions than answers. Mr. Albright retained copies of the documents, and Carol left without looking at Raymond. Mark stayed behind long enough to tell June that he would search his old emails and bring any correspondence he found to the lawyer.
After everyone had gone, June sat quietly at the desk.
"She still hasn't admitted what she intended to do," she said.
"No," Mr. Albright replied. "But we have a clearer timeline now. That matters."
He placed the email printout in a separate folder.
"There is one more issue. The note about getting you to sign if your grandfather could not. We need to establish who wrote it, who received the message, and whether it was ever acted upon."
June looked at the document.
"If someone was planning this before Grandpa died, then the envelope wasn't the beginning."
"No," Mr. Albright said. "It was the beginning of your understanding."
He closed the folder.
"And tomorrow, we may learn why your grandfather chose that particular day to leave the final instructions with Ellen."
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Ellen Found the Instructions Grandpa Had Left Before His Final Hospital Visit, and One Small Detail Explained the Dollar Bequests
Six Relatives Followed June Down a Dusty Kansas Road After the Lawyer Handed Her Something Grandpa Had Hidden
Part 10 of 20
