Chapter 1

The orange paper hit the storm door like a flat gunshot. The frame rattled in its tracks. Deke Rowntree stood on the porch with his palm still pressed to the glass, his round face flushed, breath steaming. “Thirty days, Prine,” he shouted. “Sign it tonight, or I’ll bury it.”

Walter Prine stood just inside the door. He didn’t step back. He looked at the paper, then at Deke’s clipboard, then at the pen. Across the street, Mrs. Kessler stopped mid-sweep, her snow brush frozen above the curb. A county truck idled at the edge of the walk, exhaust curling in the cold.

“You can’t just take a house,” Walter said. His voice was quiet. It always was.

“I can take this one.” Deke jabbed a finger at the order. “Unsound structure. Unsafe. Demolition and clearance billed to the owner. Eighteen thousand dollars.”

Walter didn’t look at the number. He looked at the box on Deke’s form. It was already ticked.

“When did you inspect the inside?” Walter asked.

Deke blinked. “January sixteenth. Two fifteen. It’s on the form.”

Walter watched the pen. Deke’s fingers tightened around it. The pen hovered over the clipboard, then stilled. On the printed list clipped beneath the form, Walter saw four addresses. 202 Bell. 206. 210. 214. The first three had check marks beside them. All three were empty lots now, each one standing behind a Kubiak Construction sign.

“Appeal if you want,” Deke said. “Waste of a stamp. The board always sides with the county.”

He pulled the order free of the glass and let it fall against the door. Then he walked back to the truck, boots crunching the salt-stained walk. Mrs. Kessler pretended to sweep again. The truck pulled away.

Walter stood there until the cold reached his hands. Then he took out his phone. The cracked corner caught the gray light. Cassie had installed the doorbell camera in September, after a package disappeared from the porch. He had never thought much about it.

He opened the app. There was a clip from January 16. 2:15 p.m. Forty-one seconds.

He pressed play.

Deke’s face filled the screen. He was on the porch, mouth moving. He never crossed the threshold. A man in a Kubiak jacket stood on the sidewalk behind him, taking pictures of the porch.

Then Deke’s voice came through clear.

“Tell Ray this one’s clean by spring.”

Walter lowered the phone. The house was quiet. The order lay against the door, orange as a warning light.

He looked at the clipboard list in his mind. Four addresses. Three ticked.

One left.