I recognized one from Daniel’s photograph.
Judge Malcolm Reeves.
He had retired five years earlier after nearly three decades on the bench.
The second man was my former accountant, Harold Voss.
Harold had attended Daniel’s funeral.
He had hugged me beside the church and told me Daniel was the finest man he had ever known.
Now he avoided my eyes.
Victor looked at Daniel’s box.
“You brought it.”
“You asked for it.”
He smiled.
“People are always reasonable once they understand what they might lose.”
Clara remained beside me.
“What can she lose now?” she asked.
Victor glanced at her.
“Freedom. Reputation. Perhaps the farm cooperative she loves so much.”
“You cannot undo the sale,” I said.
“Any contract can be challenged.”
“On what grounds?”
“Incompetence. Fraud. Undisclosed liability. Environmental contamination.”
“The land is clean.”
“Land is whatever the right laboratory report says it is.”
Judge Reeves spoke for the first time.
