I filed the easement on a Thursday morning.
Mrs. Lyle at the county records office took the paperwork and stamped it and gave me a receipt, and I asked her to flag the Bennett parcel for any pending lot-line adjustments. She said she would, and she wrote a note in the file, and she looked at me with something that was almost respect.
"Your mother did this once," she said.
"I know."
"She came in here three years ago with the same folder."
"She did."
"I told her then she was going to need a lawyer."
"I have a lawyer," I said.
I had a lawyer. His name was Aaron Feld, and he was sixty-three years old and specialized in property disputes, and he had read every document I brought him and told me I had a case. He had also told me it would take eighteen months and cost more than I had, and
