My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
She looked up, her expression tight and professional. She picked up her silver pen and clicked it three times.
“We have a problem,” Rachel said.
I sat down across from her and laid the sheriff’s slip of paper on the table.
“My gate lock was cut this morning,” I said. “Walt Hensley took the report.”
Rachel did not look surprised. She slid a thick manila folder across the polished wood toward me.
“Your father did not stop at the gate,” Rachel said. “His attorney filed a petition in district court yesterday afternoon. They secured a temporary restraining order and an injunction.”
I looked at the top page of the packet. My name was printed at the top, right below Arthur Carter’s name in bold black letters.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“It halts all physical improvements on the property,” Rachel said. “It means you cannot build fences, you cannot drill the well you scheduled for next week, and you cannot bring any equipment onto the land.”
“It is my land,” I said. “The deed is in my name, and the bank accepted the payment.”
