My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“The county filed a temporary stay,” Greg Vance said, shifting his clipboard. “The actual title transfer is still pending the fifteen-day redemption window. We need to be careful here, Arthur.”
“My son is the primary bidder,” Arthur said, his voice rising. “The girl abandoned the property. She is not even in the county.”
I watched the screen as the locksmith took a screwdriver from his kit. He was about to touch the brass contacts inside the lock face when a pair of headlights swept across the pine trees from the county road.
The headlights belonged to a high-clearance utility truck, but behind it came the red and blue emergency lights of a county patrol unit. The locksmith stopped his work and stood up, dropping his screwdriver back into his pocket.
Sheriff Walt Hensley parked his vehicle at an angle, blocking the white sedan. He left his headlights on, bathing the entire gate in a harsh, white glare. He climbed out of the cab slowly, letting his boots crunch on the gravel before he tilted his hat back.
