He had no idea I’d spent thirty minutes in the basement records room.

He had no idea the deed he’d filed handed over title to a strip of gravel behind an abandoned lumber yard.

I tapped my ring finger on my watch face while I looked at the two numbers written on my pad.

Frank thought he’d trapped me with his doctored phone recording and his notary stamp.

He’d been in such a hurry to file before I got back from Columbus that he never double-checked the parcel grid.

I took the folded 1984 survey abstract out of my file folder and opened the thick yellowed paper across the wheel.