“None whatsoever,” Mr.

Vance said.

“No judge has granted his conservatorship petition, and our preemptive filing shut the door on any temporary emergency order.”

He pressed the corner of the blue folder flat with his thumb.

“We’ll head straight to the property once escrow confirms final recording.”

I rode along with the delivery driver down Shea Boulevard, turning onto Willow Creek Lane just as the mid-morning sun touched the tops of the sycamores.

The front yard of the Craftsman house smelled of pine mulch and damp gravel as the blue moving van rolled into the driveway.