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The man’s voice softened. “Because it isn’t safe here, Hannah. I know you don’t understand yet, but please — trust me. Sell it, take your children, and leave before it’s too late.”
I frowned, unsure whether to be frightened or offended. “Not safe? Is someone threatening us?”
My voice hardened. “Who are you? Why should I believe you?”
He sighed, his shoulders heavy. “My name is Harold Brooks. I built houses in this town years ago. I know this neighborhood — and I know what was buried beneath it before these homes were ever built.”
I shook my head. “I think it’s time you go.”
He nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer. Then he placed a single dollar bill on the table.
“When the time comes,” he said quietly, “you’ll remember this moment. Leave before it’s too late.”
And with that, he put on his hat, thanked me for my kindness, and stepped out into the morning sun.
