I walked up to the thick bulletproof glass window.

“I need to pull the probate filings for Beatrice’s estate,” I said.

I slid a piece of yellow notebook paper under the metal slot.

I had written her full legal name, her date of birth, and the date she died.

The clerk took the paper and typed on a bulky black keyboard for almost a minute.

“That whole file has a strict lock on it,” the clerk said.

“What does that mean?