“You’re talking to the new owner of the property,” Dustin said.

“And you look like you got dressed out of a lost-and-found bin.

Are those prison-issue jeans?”

I looked down at the faded denim I had bought with my gate money at the bus station.

They were stiff and uncomfortable.

“They fit fine,” I said.

“You’re a long shot if you think you’re getting a payout from us,” Dustin said.

“The referee blew the whistle on your inheritance three years ago.