“His attorney called at eight thirty this morning expecting a quick quitclaim surrender,” Rachel said.

“He thinks you’re broke and ready to take ten thousand dollars.”

She took a second blue folder out of her drawer and opened it flat on the desk.

“We need to complete the formal chain of custody for the physical ticket before noon,” she said.

By eleven o’clock, gray clouds hung low over Oakridge, and rain began tapping on the tall glass windows of First National Bank.

Arthur met us at the heavy iron gate behind the main teller counter, holding a long brass master key in his right hand.