Scrooge

Tanner Whiteman

Looking over the land, I hum in approval.

“The plans I have drawn up encompass the entire space. We will have to demolish the entire structure, and the amenities will run along the border here at the east so we can position the new building from east to west,” Griffin says as he holds the plans in his hands, the paper blowing a little in the breeze.

“We would start from here.” He continues, giving me the plans as he runs across the yard and bends over to hammer a steel peg into the ground to indicate the start of the building. “And end over here.” Running almost the length of the property, he hammers in another peg, so we can gauge the size of the construction.

It's big. Just how I want it.

“That’s good. The side deck will get the morning sun, with the distillery in view, and then the sun setting in the west will coat the main deck, with the rolling hills as its scenery,” I say, already visualizing it.

Whiteman’s Whiskey is growing. The small whiskey distillery I started decades ago has grown to be a billion-dollar business. Now, I’m planning a new boutique accommodation development here in Whispers that will house weekend visitors, allowing them to sample our whiskey, eat in our restaurant, and spend money in the small town I have called home all my life. Call it my community service, even though the six-star stay will be financially out of reach for most people who live around here.

“You know we haven’t acquired the land yet, right?” Sawyer asks, watching me from where he stands next to the truck. He looks out of place in his shiny shoes and three-piece suit pressed to perfection, as Marie’s goat walks nearby, chewing the grass. I spot her milking cow out in the field, doing the same.

Sawyer is a good lawyer, but not a country boy. He can talk his way out of most things—like all city folk, he has the gift of the gab—so while he doesn’t have a connection to the land, he is the best person to secure this plot of land for me. That is why I have flown him out from New York. He needs to see the vision.

“It is just a matter of time. Marie had no family. No friends, apart from a few locals. Even that dwindled down these past few years as she got older. We just need Jerry to show up with the papers and I will buy it and get this plan in motion. I want to start building as soon as the papers are signed,” I tell them, gazing out over the run-down house and land my elderly neighbor called home for years.

Marie was a tough old woman. Lived alone. Didn’t have any family that visited. Kept to herself mainly, but as she aged, the community and I helped her where we could. That’s what a good neighbor does. Her farm is small, and although the milking cow and a few goats were never going to make her any money, they kept her company.

“He’s here now. Let’s see what he says,” Sawyer says as he pushes off the car, not sounding convinced. The familiar red truck of our local town lawyer pulls up in the driveway. Technically, we are trespassing. This land is not mine yet.

“Morning,” Jerry greets us, looking a little frazzled in his dress slacks and shirt. Not as crisp as Sawyer, but at seventy, he still does a good job of keeping this town together.

“Morning, Jerry. Got the papers? I’ve got a meeting with Connor I need to get to,” I say, keen to get this done. My son and I need to discuss distribution of our latest release in an hour, and any time I get with him these days is precious.

“Unfortunately, there is a hiccup,” Jerry says, and my shoulders stiffen. Eyes narrowing, they flick to Sawyer, who appears just as surprised. This should be a simple transaction. Single old lady dies, has no one claiming her legacy, and so it is put up for sale as a deceased estate.

“What hiccup?” Sawyer asks as Griffin steps closer, the three of us all looking at Jerry for answers.

“I formally reviewed Marie’s will…” he starts tentatively, and my hands find my hips.

“And?” I push him, already knowing I’m about to be frustrated.

“And… she has a niece. She has named her as the sole beneficiary of her possessions, including her house, land, and money.”

“A niece?” Griffin asks. He is a tough guy who has been my contractor for years. He is the man who helped me build the entire distillery here in Whispers. As we have expanded over the years, so has he. His company now builds new ranches and luxury homes all around the country. Makes good money from it all too.

“She never said anything about any niece,” I grumble, my jaw tight. This is less than ideal.

“Her will is old; she wrote it over a decade ago. There is no mention of any siblings or anyone else,” Jerry confirms.

“So does the niece want to sell?” Sawyer asks, and my attention moves back to Jerry, hoping he says yes. If not, I will up my price and just pay her out. This place is so run-down, only a fool would be interested in taking it on. As I glance over the land again, I only see one goat. I swore there were two of them this morning.

“The will stipulates that the niece be notified in writing, and then she has thirty days to claim. If she doesn’t come forward within thirty days, the property will be sold, with the proceeds donated to local charities,” Jerry explains, and I huff a laugh.

“Marie did know how to play games,” I murmur, thinking of my old neighbor. She was feisty, especially in her younger days. I never knew her to have a partner. Her family was raised here, and she stayed even after her parents passed. She liked the quiet of the country and could be a little quirky at times.

“I sent the letter already, so the clock is ticking. I will let you know if I hear from her,” Jerry says.

“Tell her I want to buy and will pay top dollar,” I call out to Jerry as he walks back to his truck, and he just nods and waves because he already knows. And he’s just one of many. I have already submitted the plans to the town planner for early approval, and it was raised at the last town meeting. Everyone in Whispers knows how much I want this land and that I will do anything to get it.

“That throws a wrench in the works,” Griffin says, looking out at the vibrant green expanse, which is now starting to overgrow due to lack of maintenance. The view has me steeling my spine. This is a mere bump in the road; I know this land will be mine.

“Let’s hope the niece stays where she is.” I hate waiting, but my mom always said good things come to those who wait.

And good things are coming, I can feel it.