My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“I saw my father’s sedan parked along this fence line twice last month,” I said, looking down the long stretch of the county road. “He was scouting the lock system to plan his forced entry.”
Walt stood up and wiped his gloved hands together.
“A sedan didn’t carry the tool that did this,” he said.
“He knew what kind of lock I had,” I said. “He came out here to measure what was not his.”
Walt looked down the road, then back at my small house sitting on the ridge half a mile away.
“Your father has a lot of years in this county, Olivia,” Walt said. “People know him. They know his voice, and they know his name.”
“That does not give him the right to cut my locks,” I said.
“It doesn’t,” Walt said. “But without a witness or a camera feed, a cut lock on a perimeter gate is a difficult thing to pin on a specific man. Especially when there is a family dispute over the title.”
