My grandfather, Arvid Halvorsen, had owned those eighty acres for most of his life. He served in Korea, returned home, and spent fifty years farming the land. But his greatest joy was allowing veterans to hunt there without paying a cent. He kept a little green notebook recording their names, military service, and hunting memories. When he died, he left the farmhouse and property exclusively to me. Brad, my husband at the time, had never understood why the land meant so much to me. He considered it nothing more than an opportunity to make money.

Our marriage eventually ended because Brad wanted to sell the farmhouse and cash out the property. I refused, and the divorce settlement confirmed that the land belonged entirely to me. I thought that chapter was finished. But apparently Brad had continued collecting $4,000 every November from Kurt and his friends. When I called him, he laughed and said, “You don’t even hunt, Amy. Those guys love that property.” Then he hung up. I sat at Grandpa’s kitchen table, staring at his green notebook, realizing what Brad had stolen.