Grannypig in a Web - For the Love of Prefab Mansions!

Mel is sitting in her yard feeling defeated, absently eating an apple on a tree stump in her apple orchard near the old barn her grandpa built with his own hands before she was even born.    
 
Daddy Farmer walks up to her.  
   
“Hey, sis! I thought maybe you lost your phone. Glad I found you out here.” He greets her absently as he gazes around, as though looking for something.  
   
“Stop looking.” She says, without looking up, and fishing her phone out of her large checkered, button-up shirt it looks like she borrowed from his wardrobe. “Don't tell me if you find any more of them spiders! The fame is killing me.”  
   
Women like Mel aren't ones to push around. Her loyalty to brother and family don't include black helicopters or paparazzi. She wears her pants. She passes on delicate femininity. All her shirts look like her bother’s, too. On cold days she layers oversized t-shirts underneath her oversized button-up shirts, cheap shirts, emblazoned with some kind of playful, forever-child theme. Superheroes, rock bands, cheeky “emo” jokes, you name it.  
   
“Stop looking for whaaaat?” He says, scanning the scene once more, hoping she didn't notice while fiddling with her device.  
   
“Just setting this on airplane mode so we can talk.” She added.  
   
“Now, hold on,” Daddy Farmer began again. “Wait... were you avoiding me?”  
   
“Glad it FINALLY got your attention. I can't pick up my phone for anybody right now. I think it's bugged. And I'm being followed..” she says, finally looking up, just to scan the horizon herself.  
   
Daddy Farmer failed to track with her. “Yeah, 67,000 on your insta-ham alone!”  
   
Mel sighed with an almost angry heaviness. “No, not that! Look at my barn!”  
   
A big sign in front of the old barn reads: Public Notice, and lots of small black print. The doors are boarded shut, with tape tacked across reading "condemned."  
   
Daddy Farmer is clearly taken aback. “That's not disturbing at all. Mel... what happened?”  
   
Mel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing out of the ordinary, minus an alien invasion! Apparently, YouFool is closely monitored by more than artists, shut-ins and failures-to-launch. For some reason they decided they only needed to claim that half of the property. I don't know whether it's better or worse that I'm still living here, sharing this mile long property with you on one end and me over on this end of Grandpa’s farm. Maybe we should move somewhere warm.”  
   
Daddy Farmer still isn't tracking. “Those creepy spiders. I'm almost sorry I stopped them.”  
   
Mel stares at him, wide-eyed, for a second. “Are you kidding? You saved our bacon! Literally!”  
   
Daddy Farmer responded, amused. “You are such a ham. I only saved MY bacon. You are usually vegan.”  
   
Mel decided to refocus the conversation again. “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you always show up with an agenda. Spit it out.”  
   
“Okay, Sis. This time, we need money. Both of us. You have a babysitter-petting zoo that is now closed. I have a wife who wants to own and live on an island paradise in a prefabricated mansion. Let's work this out with the bank.”