By two o’clock, the back room smelled of old damp cardboard, floor wax, and dry paper dust.

I sat on a low metal stool sorting ninety-four municipal land deeds into heavy steel filing trays while Marcus worked through the property transfers at his front desk.

I pulled out the land records for Oak Ridge Drive and found the original deed Greg and I had signed twenty-two years ago, when we bought the three-bedroom house with our first savings.

The heavy oak door frame groaned when Marcus leaned his shoulder against it, holding a stapled legal document.