It kicked up a thick cloud of dust as it sped toward us.

The tires screeched as the vehicle came to a sudden halt near the flatbeds.

The driver’s door swung open violently.

Richard stepped out, his suit wrinkled and his hair disheveled.

He looked furious, his face red under the morning sun.

He slammed the door behind him and marched toward us.

“This ends today, Alexandra,” he shouted.

Richard marched across the gravel, his leather shoes kicking up small puffs of gray dust.

Nathan stepped slightly in front of me, his clipboard held against his chest, but I put a hand on his arm and stepped forward.

“There is nothing left to discuss, Richard,” I said.

He stopped a few feet away, his breathing heavy and uneven under the hot morning sun.

“You stole my house,” he spat, pointing a trembling finger at the shrink-wrapped kitchen module on the flatbed.

“This house was purchased with my father’s trust money,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“The divorce decree was signed last week, Richard. The court ruled that the structure belonged to me.”