at Bradley.
“Do you possess the original?”
“No.”
“Recorded copy?”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Shaw?”
“No, Your Honor.”
The judge leaned back.
“So you are asking this court to restrain a landowner from controlling his farm based on an unrecorded photocopy of an agreement bearing a signature he says was impossible for him to execute because he was deployed overseas.”
Nobody moved.
Judge Marsh closed the folder.
“Request denied.”
Trish’s shoulders dropped.
But the judge wasn’t finished.
“And I’m referring the disputed document to the county prosecutor for review.”
That was the first payoff.
The second came outside.
Three television cameras waited on the courthouse steps.
I walked past them.
No speech.
No celebration.
Trish wasn’t so lucky.
Residents surrounded her.
Somebody shouted, “Where’s the $1.8 million?”
Another shouted, “Did you forge the contract?”
Bradley stepped between her and the cameras.
Rachel guided me toward her SUV.
“You handled
