A worker was throwing heavy yellow straps over the top of the kitchen walls, securing them to the steel bed.

Nathan Cole walked over to me, holding a bottle of water.

He handed it to me, and I took a long drink.

“We’re ahead of schedule,” Nathan said. “The master bedroom block is the last one. We should have it secured by five o’clock.”

“And the land will be empty?” I asked.

“Just the concrete footings left,” he said. “And the utility connections, which we’ve safely capped off.”

“Thank you, Nathan,” I said.

I walked back to my car, placed the canvas bag in the trunk, and sat in the driver’s seat with the air conditioning running.

I watched the crane move into position over the final section of the house.

My phone buzzed again on the console.

It was an email notification from Gloria’s office, showing a copy of an emergency motion she was filing with the Travis County district court.

I opened the document and began to read.

The legal language was formal, but the intent was razor-sharp.