Twenty minutes later, Captain Morales and I followed him down the hall into his private office.

Dalton’s private office smelled of old paper and lemon furniture polish.

The walls were lined with bound law books going back fifty years.

Dalton sat behind a broad mahogany desk with the blue folder lying open in his lap.

He wasn’t looking at the county filing registry on his computer screen.

His hands lay perfectly still on the cardboard cover.

I asked whether the clerk had entered the original trust correctly in the system.