“Don’t play games with me, Leah.

You sign that quitclaim deed by October fifteenth, or my letter goes straight to your colonel.”

I turned the silver ring on my left thumb and looked him dead in the eye.

“I understand your deadline, Father.”

“Then grab your papers and get off my property,” Richard said.

By four o’clock the sun was sinking behind the tall brick buildings on Third Street outside the windows of Dalton’s conference room.

The long mahogany table was covered in neat rows of white legal papers, labeled exhibits, and yellow pads.