Seeking to develop an upscale mixed-use community in the Macon, Georgia, area . . . your family’s undeveloped woodlands property is a significant asset . . . we are preparedto tender a generous offer of approximately $5,000 per acre . . . could not reach your father so we are desiring to discuss with you . . .
“Did you talk to Grandpa Lee about this?” Nick asked.
“Come on, baby.” Mom came to the counter, shook her head. “You know your granddaddy still doesn’t have a telephone.”
Nick wasn’t surprised by that news. His Grandpa Lee was what the old heads in his family called “special.”
Nick hadn’t seen his maternal grandfather in over a decade. Grandpa Lee lived alone on that vast plot of undeveloped land outside of Macon, in a well-kept but modest residence. He had no phone; Nick believed he didn’t have electricity, either, or plumbing. He had a vehicle, Nick remembered, a Ford pickup truck, which at the time Nick had seen it was probably twenty-five years old. Grandpa Lee was most likely still driving it.
Occasionally, Grandpa Lee sent letters to Nick’s mother, his only surviving child. His mother shared them with Nick. They were rambling missives in barely readable handwriting.
Despite his granddad’s oddities, Nick had fond memories of spending time with him. Grandpa Lee had a sharp mind and a wicked sense of humor. There was no dispute that he was deeply attached to that property, too. On Nick’s last visit, he had taken him on a tour of those woods—during daylight hours, as his granddad claimed, bizarrely, that it wasn’t safe out there after dark—and Grandpa Lee had known the forest as well as a man knew his own den.
“But this, Mom, this is important,” Nick said. He put the letter on the counter and placed his finger on it. “How many acres does Grandpa Lee have? I know it’s a significant amount of land.”
“It’s about nine hundred acres.” She watched him carefully.
Dizziness spun through Nick as he quickly did the math. “Mom, nine hundred acres, at five grand per acre, isfour point five million dollars.”
“I can do mathematics, Nicholas.” Arms crossed over her bosom, his mother stared at him as if he had sprouted a third eye in the center of his forehead. “That property has been in our family for generations, Nicholas. Do you think this is the first time we’ve had offers to sell it?” She uttered a harsh laugh. “Hell, we should count ourselves lucky that this time they offered payment for it instead of threatening to take it by force like they used to back in the day.”
“I get it,” Nick said. “Black folks never got the forty acres and a mule that was promised to us. We need to be property owners and pass down generational wealth, yada yada yada. But this is like a winning lottery ticket.”
“You get it, huh?” Mom asked. “Are you sure about that?”
“The land is literally sitting there, vacant. Grandpa Lee’s living in a tiny house—it’s not as though he’s got a commercial farm. Why not sell it? We could do so much with that money.”
Mom had started to sip her tea, but instead put the glass on the counter and turned a penetrating stare on him.
“What’s truly going on with you?” She gestured toward the letter. “I admit it’s a fortune, but I’m quite comfortable in my retirement, and so is my dad, as odd as that may seem considering his living situation. I thought things were going well financially with you, too—heck, you’ve been living a life right out of that old TV show,Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. What would they say—‘champagne wishes and caviar dreams.’ Or am I missing something?”
“How often will an opportunity like this come along?” Nick asked, ignoring her question. “It’s like selling a stock at the peak of a bull market. Six months from now, the real estate market could turn, and the land wouldn’t be worth half as much.”
“It wouldn’t matter to your granddad if they offered him a hundred million dollars,” Mom said. “And it wouldn’t matter to him if they offered him a penny. It’s not a financial decision. The property belongs to our family and must be passed down the line, no matter what. That’s why he wouldn’t talk to these people and they got in touch with me.”
“You could make a deal with them?” Nick asked.
“Grandpa Lee holds the deed and he’s presently of sound mind. No, I can’t sign the deal, and I wouldn’t if I could anyway. If any deal is to be made, your Grandpa Lee has to make it—and that’s about as likely as a pig jumping over the moon.”
“What if I go see him and talk to him about it?” Nick asked. “He might listen to me. This is ultimately my inheritance, too.”
Mom laughed. “Child, you have no idea. But you know what—go ahead! Go see your grandpa and see how willing he is to listen to you about selling family property. You’re long overdue to go see him anyway—heck, take Amiya, too. I think he’d like to meet her.”
Still chuckling, Mom refreshed her iced tea and went back outside to the deck.
Nick lowered his head, drummed his fingertips on the countertop.
He wasn’t prepared to let this go. He couldn’t. It was his property, too—or would be, someday. Why didn’t he have a vote in this situation?
His cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from Omar.
No payment plan . . . Shango says we got thirty days 2 pay in full . . . what we goin 2 do?
Nick used his iPhone to snap a photo of the letter. Fingers trembling, he sent a reply to Omar.
No worries . . . I have a plan.
6
