About a year after Arthur died, a plain envelope arrived with a return address I recognized.

It was from Richard Sterling.

Inside was a single sheet of paper and a photograph of him standing beside Arthur on the riverbank, the little fish held between them like a prize.

Julian, he wrote, I don’t know if I’ll ever agree with the decision my father made about the property.

My attorney says the matter is settled, and I am not reopening it.

I received the letters and photographs.