“Arthur, please take a seat so we can go over the ground rules,” Mr.

Miller said, waving a hand toward the empty leather chair.

My father stayed standing for another three seconds before lowering himself into the seat.

He unbuckled the elastic strap on his accordion file and pulled out a stack of printouts, spreading them across his side of the table like playing cards.

“I have four years of bank transfers, registration receipts from Multnomah County, and insurance records,” my father announced, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

“Iris is under a serious legal misunderstanding if she thinks she can move family property across state lines.”