My father came into the room carrying two white stoneware mugs of hot black coffee.

He set one of them on the little wooden table next to the lamp.

General Walter Hensley drew his silver pocket watch from his vest pocket, checked the time, and clicked the lid shut with a sharp mechanical snap.

“He made a fast move to grab filing priority,” my father said, his deep voice filling the quiet room.

“He thinks if he locks the physical door first, he gets to choose the legal ground.”

“He took my house, Dad,” I said.