“That’s the deed to the property,” Nate said.

“Whose property?” Jeff asked, setting his fork down on his plate with a sharp click.

“Ours,” I said.

Judy beamed, her hands coming together over the napkin in her lap.

“Did the county bank give you a mortgage?” Judy asked.

“I didn’t think the bank people were writing loans on tax auction houses without a full commercial appraisal.”

“There is no mortgage,” I said, keeping my voice level and clear, the way I read out billing code adjustments at the hospital desk.

Ron picked up the tax deed in his thick fingers and held it up toward the light fixture.