My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“I have the files on my desk, Captain Monroe,” Vance said, using her military rank from the paperwork she had faxed ahead. “But I must tell you, our legal department in Denver has already reviewed the account authorization.”
I sat in one of the blue fabric chairs opposite his desk. My mother’s silver watch felt tight against my wrist. I pulled at the metal strap to loosen it, watching Vance’s hands. He was holding a blue folder with a white label that had my name printed in block letters.
“Your legal department reviewed a photocopy,” Rachel said. She sat down next to me and placed her leather briefcase on her lap. She unzipped it with a single, sharp motion. “We are here to look at the original signature pages.”
“The originals are kept in the lower vault archive,” Vance said. He leaned back, his chair giving a dry squeak. “It takes a court order to pull physical assets from active storage.”
“I brought the certified petition we filed yesterday morning,” Rachel said.
