Red ink lines had been drawn over the original black borders, shifting the western boundary line thirty yards into the state park land.

Beside the map was a business card for a local real estate broker named Vance Miller.

I heard a car door slam outside in the driveway.

I walked to the front window and pulled the dusty curtain aside.

A white pickup truck with the words *Miller & Associates Land Development* printed on the side had just parked behind my SUV.

A man in a hard hat and a high-visibility vest got out of the truck, carrying a heavy metal tripod.

Dorian walked out from the side of the cabin to meet him, shaking his hand warmly.

They began walking toward the western edge of the clearing, where the thick pine forest met the rock wall.

I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, dialing Mr. Voss’s direct office number.

The line rang twice before the attorney’s calm voice came through the speaker.

“Maren,” Mr. Voss said. “Have you arrived at the cabin?”