“He’s not wrong about people,” Lynn said.

“Think on that.”

The woman freed her shoe and walked to a gray sedan idling at the curb with its hazards on.

I watched her get in and sit there a moment, writing on the clipboard.

“Two hours ago,” Lynn said, “they put that up on your door.

They’re trying to take the house.”

I turned the pages over.

At the bottom of the last one, in the blank where the plaintiff’s name belongs, was Arthur Vance, and under it, in smaller type, the words fraudulent conveyance.