He laid the forged papers out flat on the white fiberglass hood of Harry’s golf cart, checking them side by side against the notarized county documents from my folder.

Harry stared, pale and stunned, while the officers went over the forged property maps on the hood of his golf cart.

The taller township officer snapped the heavy steel cuffs onto Harry’s left wrist before Harry could even take his hands off the hood of his custom golf cart.

“You have no clue who my corporate lawyers are,” Harry said.

His voice came out hoarse, all the loud boom gone out of it.