Robert Chen’s office was in a high-rise overlooking the Hudson. The receptionist greeted me like she’d been expecting me. Minutes later, I was in a glass-walled conference room.
Robertwalked in mid-40s, sharp suit, calm eyes that had probably seen their share of family meltdowns.
“Captain Whitmore,” he said, shaking my hand firmly. “Your father spoke highly of you. He trusted you’d be the one to handle this.”
Hearing that steadied me.
“He left me more than I realized,” I said, sliding the metal box across the table.
Robert opened it with practiced care, scanning documents quickly. He stopped at the geological survey, eyebrows lifting.
“Well,” he murmured, “your sister’s in for a surprise. This isn’t just a cabin.These mineral rights alone are worth tens of millions. Feldspar, granite…”
He tapped the lithium report.
“This could make you wealthier than any penthouse ever could.”
