He slapped it down on the hood of my truck beside the windshield wipers.

“That’s formal notice of our motion to split the farm acreage,” Robert said.

“My attorney fees are already at four thousand dollars because of your stalling.”

“You filed Case 4238B against me, Dad,” I said.

“Because you refuse to sit down and act like a reasonable daughter,” Robert said, turning his head to squint across the frosty back meadow.

“A representative from a private investment group came by my office on High Street last month asking if the Cedar Lane lot was available for a cash purchase.”

I looked at his face.