Chapter 2

The lawyer's footsteps echoed off the cheap paneling as he crossed the room. He was a tall man, fiftyish, with a face that had been carefully arranged to reveal nothing. His gray suit was expensive in the way that suburban lawyers' suits were expensive—tailored but not flashy, meant to intimidate without being obvious about it.

Diane watched him come. She did not lower the check. She did not step back. She had spent four years being talked down to by this board, being fined for phantom infractions, being dismissed and belittled and ignored. She had carried this check to every single hearing since May, waiting for the night Mark Barlow finally showed his hand.

Tonight was that night.

"Mr. Barlow," the lawyer said, stopping at the edge of the board table. He did not look at Diane. He looked only at Mark. "I have the documents you requested."

Mark's face, which had been gray with panic, flickered with something else. Relief. He straightened his shoulders, adjusted his blazer, and gestured at the envelope. "Good. Thank you, Mr. Delgado."

"Mr. Delgado," Diane repeated. She turned to face the lawyer directly. "I assume that envelope contains a deed transfer. For my property."

The lawyer's expression did not change, but something in his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. He had not expected her to know.

"It contains documents relevant to the board's ongoing concerns about the—"

"About the grass," Diane interrupted. "The grass that's been dead for exactly one week. The grass that somehow appears in a photo dated July 14, which was taken four days after my sprinklers were disconnected at the street."