It was a lie, but it was a lie backed by a signed affidavit from a private inspector I had never heard of.

I didn’t go back to bed.

I spent the next four hours at my desk, organizing the blue folders I had kept hidden in my file cabinet.

Inside the folders were the certified county map lines and the strict watershed zoning laws for Cedar Hollow.

Beside those papers lay the financial disclosures I had finally obtained from a contact at the bank.

I drank black coffee as the sky outside turned from pitch black to a bruised gray.

By eight o’clock, I was in my car, driving down the winding, gravel path of Cedar Hollow Road.

The rain had slowed to a steady, cold drizzle that fogged my windshield.

The Asheville courthouse was a gray stone building that felt cold even in the summer.

I walked up the concrete steps, clutching my leather briefcase to my chest.

The marble hallway upstairs smelled of floor wax and wet umbrellas.

Harold and Denise were sitting on the wooden bench outside Courtroom 3B.