She nodded once, her eyes lingering on Daniel for a moment too long before she walked back to her desk near the stairs.
Daniel sat close to me at the wooden table. He pulled the first ledger toward him, the heavy leather cover scraping against the wood. His silver watch rotated on his wrist as his fingers found the index tab for the creek road properties.
The pages were thick and yellowed, covered in the elegant, looping handwriting of the old county clerks. A fine layer of Georgia clay dust rose from the binding as he turned to page eighty-four.
“There it is,” Daniel said.
His calloused index finger stopped near the bottom of the page. The entry was written in dark blue ink, dated October twelfth, 1971.
It was a land transfer deed for the eighty-acre farm that had belonged to Daniel’s father, Arthur Miller. The recipient of the deed was the Oakhaven Savings and Trust.
“My father never would have signed his land over to a bank,” Daniel said. His voice was clipped, the words coming out like small chips of stone.
“Look at the witness signature,” I whispered, leaning closer
