On an Oak Creek Street, a Retired Navy SEAL Took Off His Flannel Shirt
A paper cup of cold coffee sat between his hands on the weathered wood.
I sat down on the bench across from him and laid the township land copy on the table.
“The certified ’84 deed shows exactly where the boundary is,” I said.
Arthur pushed his silver-framed glasses up by the bridge, but he didn’t touch the paper.
“Harry Caldwell has some powerful legal resources, David,” Arthur said.
“You looked past his permit violations because he cut a deal with you,” I said.
Arthur went rigid.
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