“Is there an issue, counsel?”
“No, Your Honor.”
But his face said otherwise.
In the hallway, I heard him speaking quietly to Dad.
Dad’s voice went from confused to sharp.
I kept walking.
Outside, Merritt caught up with me.
“You knew exactly what was in those documents.”
“I always knew.”
He looked back toward the courthouse.
“I’ve practiced law eleven years. I’ve never seen somebody deliberately hand back property knowing what came with it.”
I looked at him.
“I just stopped being the only person carrying it.”
Four days later, Dad called.
And for the first time since the lawsuit began, he wasn’t calling to accuse me of taking something from him.
He was calling because he had finally started reading what ownership actually required.
IF FACEBOOK BROUGHT YOU HERE, HERE’S THE CONTINUATION YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. ENJOY!
Dad tried to sound calm.
“There are a few things in the documents I need clarified.”
“What things?”
“The land-trust agreement.”
I explained it.
Annual stewardship report.
Monitoring access.
Restrictions on the wetland buffer.
Maintenance funding.
Deadlines.
A long pause followed.
“We weren’t told about this.”
“You were.”
“What?”
“It’s recorded with the deed. It’s been there since before I was born.”
His voice tightened.
“The tone was different when you handled it.”
“I know.”
Another pause.