He’d cleared off his main wooden workbench, shoving his steel chisels aside to make space for three big poster boards and a printed map of Dublin.

“He thinks swapping that deadbolt gives him sole legal possession of the property,” Dad said.

He took his silver pocket watch out of his vest pocket, checked the time, and clicked the lid shut.

“A paper notice taped to a front door doesn’t carry an ounce of legal weight without a magistrate’s stamp,” he said.

I tapped my right thumb against my index finger three times, then three times more.

“He changed the locks because he knows my financial files are still sitting in the office closet,” I said.