“Not in the official system yet,” Daniel said. “To the land registry, Graham’s signature looks perfectly legal.”

The wipers scraped against the glass, a rhythmic, irritating sound that matched the thumping in my chest.

“We need Rachel to file the emergency injunction,” I said, looking out at the dark storefronts.

“That is exactly why we are going to her office,” Daniel said. “But Vance has inside help. He has someone in the county clerk’s office pushing this through.”

He glanced down at his dashboard mount again.

“Look at the timestamp on that submission,” he said, nodding toward the glowing screen. “It went in ten minutes ago. Out of office hours.”

“How is that possible?” I asked.

“A priority queue for preferred developers,” Daniel said, his voice flat. “Vance has been setting this up for months.”

I looked down at the old ledger in my lap.

The cover was scuffed, the leather smelling of dust and cedar.

Inside were the handwritten records of every dollar my mother had put into the preservation land.

It was the proof that the land was never meant to be sold, leased, or collateralized.