Thomas pulled several documents from the envelope.
"Because according to this, you have until midnight."
Danny looked at his mother.
"Mom?"
Megan's face went pale.
Thomas smiled.
"If you're still here after midnight, the sheriff can remove you."
"You're lying," Megan said.
"Read it yourself."
"I already did. Arthur left the house to Danny and me."
Thomas's smile vanished.
"Arthur was sick when he signed that will."
"He knew exactly what he was doing."
"He was taking medication."
"He had cancer, Thomas. He wasn't incompetent."
Thomas descended the porch stairs.
Clay watched him carefully.
Then Megan said something that changed everything.
"You forged the transfer."
Thomas stopped.
Clay looked at her.
"What transfer?"
Megan's hands were shaking again, but this time anger had begun replacing fear.
"Six weeks after Arthur died, Thomas showed me a property transfer claiming Arthur had sold his share of the house to him before his death."
Clay looked toward Thomas.
"And?"
"It's fake."
Thomas laughed.
"According to whom?"
"According to my husband."
"Your husband is dead."
Megan flinched.
Thomas saw it and smiled.
Clay stepped forward.
"Careful."
Thomas's eyes shifted toward him.
"You're awfully invested in people you met ten minutes ago."
Clay ignored him.
"Why does he want the property?"
Megan answered.
"Because of what's behind it."
Thomas's face tightened.
Clay noticed.
Megan continued.
"Thirty-two acres."
Clay looked beyond the house.
From the road, he'd assumed the woods behind the property belonged to the county.
Apparently not.
"Arthur's grandfather bought all of it in 1968," Megan explained. "The house, the woods, everything down to the creek."
"And?"
"A development company wants the land."
Thomas interrupted.
"Nobody cares about that."
"How much?" Clay asked.
Megan swallowed.
"The last offer Arthur received was four-point-six million dollars."
Now Clay understood.
This wasn't an argument over an old house.
It was an argument over millions.
Thomas walked toward them.
"Enough."
Clay extended one arm slightly, keeping him at a distance.
Thomas stopped.
"You're trespassing," he said. "And I have legal documents proving Megan has no right to be here."
He held out the papers.
"Read them."
Clay took them.
The first page appeared official.
Superior Court of Millhaven County.
Petition for Emergency Possession.
There was a case number, law firm letterhead, a notary stamp, and what appeared to be a judge's signature.
Most people would have been frightened by it.
Clay wasn't most people.
Because before motorcycles, before tattoos, before disappearing from Millhaven for almost twelve years, Clay Mercer had spent three years in law school.
And his father had spent forty-one years practicing property law.
Clay read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Something was wrong.
He read the case number again.
Thomas watched him.
"Finished?"
Clay didn't answer.
There was language in the document that made no sense for an emergency possession order.
More importantly, the judge's signature appeared on a page labeled "proposed order."
A proposed order wasn't an order.
It was something an attorney submitted for a judge to consider.
Clay looked at the notary seal.
His stomach tightened.
He knew that name.
Evelyn Ross.
And he knew the law firm printed across the top.
Mercer, Shaw & Bennett.
His father's firm.
Thomas smiled.
"Now you understand."
Clay looked up.
"Oh, I understand something."
He removed his phone.
Thomas's smile faded.
"Who are you calling?"
Clay stared at the screen.
There was a number he hadn't dialed in almost nine years.
It was still there.
Dad.
His thumb hovered over it.
The last conversation they'd had came back with brutal clarity.
If you walk away tonight, don't expect me to fix your life when you come crawling back.
Clay had answered:
I'd rather sleep under a bridge than become you.
Then he'd left.