Dean opened his car door and stepped out onto the driveway.

He brushed imaginary dust off his coat sleeves twice before walking up to the bottom porch step.

“You shouldn’t have gone back to Vance’s office yesterday, Clara,” Dean said, his voice smooth and soft.

“It muddies the official court record.”

“This is my home, Dean,” I said.

“Daniel and I built these steps ourselves twenty-four years ago.”

“The original land deed puts the house and the lake lot together under the family land trust,” Dean said.

“As executor I’m legally required to secure all the trust property until the December twelfth deadline.”