I rested my right hand on my knee to steady the sharp, familiar ache behind the rebuilt joint.

I didn’t answer him.

Two civilian clerks came out of the back office to see who was shouting in the public hallway.

“She thinks coming back here with a military title gives her rights to family land,” my father said to the people standing by the doors.

My father turned his back on us and walked straight down the hallway toward room four.

Pre-hearing room four was a narrow rectangular box lit by two buzzing fluorescent tubes above a laminate conference table.