He was staging a public spectacle in the middle of town to pressure me into giving up Cedar Lane just to protect my name.

I stood alone on my porch watching my father’s car drive away down Cedar Lane.

I started my truck at seven the next morning and drove straight to High Street.

Daniel was already at his desk, two thick volumes of Virginia property law open beside a lukewarm cup of black coffee.

He didn’t offer me coffee or ask how I’d slept.

He pointed a dry ballpoint pen at a highlighted paragraph on page four hundred twelve.