I spent $480,000 building my parents a mountain ho…

My father had walked the house slowly, opening drawers in the kitchen, testing the brass latch on the stone fireplace screen, standing on the deck with both hands on the railing like he couldn’t quite believe a view that wide belonged to him now. He had hugged me once. For Marcus Vail, one hug in front of people was practically a public confession of love.

And now there was a sign in the dirt. That was the moment I understood surprise had already turned into betrayal. I got out and walked straight toward the porch.

The agent noticed me first. He had polished boots, expensive stubble, and that relaxed mountain-luxury look men get when they sell second homes to people who call working remotely a lifestyle philosophy. He smiled automatically.

“Afternoon,” he said. “We’ll just be a few minutes.”

I pointed at the sign. “What is this?”

He blinked once, still smiling.

“I’m sorry?”