I asked who.
He wouldn’t tell me.
I made copies of everything and put the original evidence somewhere safe.
Do not trust the version recorded at the courthouse until you compare the book and page numbers.
There were only three people in the room when he showed me that document.
Varden.
Me.
And—
The sentence ended there.
Not with a period.
The bottom half of the page was missing.
Cut cleanly across.
I stared at the torn edge.
Rachel took the paper under the light.
“Jack.”
“What?”
“This wasn’t torn recently.”
“How can you tell?”
“Discoloration. It’s been like this for years.”
I read Dad’s words again.
Do not trust the version recorded at the courthouse.
“County records,” I said.
Rachel was already reaching for her phone.
The recorder’s office was closed.
So we searched the online index.
Mercer Farm.
My parcel number.
Dad’s name.
My name.
Easements.
Liens.
Right-of-way
