“What game are we playing today?”

“It isn’t a game,” I said.

“That’s a duplicate of the certified legal notice I just mailed to your apartment.”

Vance Fiske leaned in, shifting onto his left boot as he smoothed his tie.

He lifted the paper with two fingers, skimmed it quickly, and cleared his throat with a loud, scratchy rasp.

“This document claims a complete revocation of land access,” Vance said, glancing up at Brad.

“Brad, you told me you’d put serious money into keeping up deer stands on that ridge these past four years.”