Michael looked at the deputies again.
“My father is old. He’s confused. He’s been struggling since my mother died.”
The deputy glanced toward me.
“Sir, are you David Jones?”
“Yes.”
“Would you come down here and tell us what happened?”
I walked slowly along the driveway. My legs were unsteady, but I kept my shoulders straight.
“My son has been pressuring me to sell this property for months,” I said. “I refused. This morning, he blocked the only road with that truck and told me I could not drive away unless I signed the land over to him.”
“That’s a lie,” Michael said quickly.
I looked directly at him.
“You stood at the end of my driveway holding a contract.”
“We were negotiating.”
“You told me I would eventually run out of food.”
“I was frustrated.”
“You said you had taken two weeks off work and were prepared to sit there until I gave in.”
