He picked up on the second ring and said a single word.

“Courthouse. Now.”

At eleven I met Arthur Vance in the lobby outside Courtroom 3B.

He had the forged quitclaim deed copy in a clear sleeve and a legal pad under his arm.

Ray stood by the water fountain with Cheryl Whitfield, who kept moving her shoulder bag from one side to the other.

Ray’s lawyer was a tall woman in a gray suit.

She did most of the talking.