Bradley looked at me.
“Mr. Mercer, I strongly advise you to stop harvesting until this dispute is resolved.”
“Are you my attorney?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll take advice from mine.”
As if on cue, Rachel’s silver SUV came up the lane.
She stepped out carrying a leather briefcase.
Five foot four.
Brown hair pinned behind her neck.
Gray suit.
The calmest woman I had ever met.
Rachel had represented farms, ranches, grain companies, and rural families for twenty years.
She could quote Missouri property statutes from memory.
More importantly, she loved documents.
Real ones.
She gave Bradley a polite smile.
“Good afternoon.”
He looked less pleased to see her.
“Rachel.”
“Bradley.”
That told me they knew each other.
She took the photocopied agreement.
Read the first page.
Second.
Third.
Then she laughed once.
Quietly.
Bradley frowned.
“What?”
Rachel pointed at the notary block.
“You filed this?”
“It predates my involvement.”
