“Lakefront Holdings,” I said. “Out of Denver.” Gordon typed in silence. Then his voice dropped. “Hal, the life estate is recorded. Your name, your lifetime. Brandon sold something he never owned.” I closed my eyes. “And the title company?” “Insured the deed anyway. Hal, the escrow officer is Dale Prewitt.” My blood ran cold. Dale had clerked for me twenty years ago.

Before I could answer, headlights swept across the kitchen window. A black SUV rolled up my gravel drive, and two people stepped out carrying a folder. One of them was Brandon. He saw me through the glass, and his smile vanished. A woman beside him knocked twice and called out, “Mr. Brennan, we are from Lakefront Holdings. We need you to sign something before noon.” Then I noticed what she held: a pen, and a page with my late wife’s name typed across the top.