Dalton took me straight from the law office to the Municipal Courthouse on Third Street.

The clock on the wall above the clerk’s window read ten past two when the clerk pushed two blue-stamped documents across the granite counter.

“This records the consent judgment for the forty-five thousand dollars in missing money,” Dalton said, straightening the papers with his thumb.

“It also places a legal lien on your father’s personal vehicles to cover the penalties on the unrecorded second mortgage.”

“And the criminal referral for the forged notary stamp?” the clerk asked, her metal stamp resting beside an open black ink pad.