"Say the number again," I said.
Callum didn't want to say the number again. I could see it on him.
"Rhys—"
"The number, Callum."
"Roughly a quarter of total holdings," he said it flat, the way you rip a bandage. "Every parcel with a claim filed against it gets tagged contested and frozen until the hearing. We hold it in the meantime, but we can't develop it, can't do a damn thing with it except sit on it and wait."
"For years?" I asked.
"For years."
I stood at the window of my office with my back to him and looked out at my own land and did the math on how much of what I could see was about to have a court-shaped question mark stapled to it.
Elise was in the chair by the desk. She'd been the one to walk me into this conversation an hour ago, gentle as she could manage, and she'd been right to, because if Callum had come at me cold, I'd have put my fist through the fucking wall before he finished the first sentence.
