Behind the glass partition, a gray-haired clerk named Thomas pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses and typed my address into his terminal.

“There was a document index entry logged first thing Monday morning,” Thomas said, squinting at his screen.

“A preliminary notice of interest.”

“Who filed it?” I asked.

“Julian Vance,” Thomas said, tapping a pencil on his desk blotter.

“He attached an old general power of attorney form dated three years back, signed by one Arthur Vance.”

“Arthur Vance is my father,” I said, keeping my voice short and steady.

“He’s never held title to Elmwood Lane.