Frank answered the door in an old gray cardigan over his work shirt.

He took me back to his small wood-paneled study, where dusty blueprint rolls were piled on an oak worktable next to a cold ceramic cup of black coffee.

Frank sat down behind his desk, picked up a heavy wooden pen, and started tapping the cap on a yellow legal pad.

“Garrett sent a mass email to the whole board at noon,” Frank said, his low, gravelly voice rough from the cold air.

“He attached the magistrate’s order and the clinic evaluation.”