The Court Order Reached The Gate Before The New Truck
Part 5 · 3 min read ·
June told me to come straight to her office.
"Bring the original notebook. Eat something on the way."
I bought a banana and could not make myself finish it.
On her desk lay a civil complaint, separate from the estate filing. It asked the court to protect the stock and archive while ownership and the sale were sorted out.
"We have the codicil, the signed inventory, the buyer's invoice, and a stated plan to remove the labels," she said. "You will swear to what you saw. Nothing more."
I read my statement twice. I changed one sentence.
It had said Daeho removed five trees.
"I didn't see him do that," I said. "I saw the empty trenches. Owen delivered them on his instructions."
June made the change.
"Careful is useful," she said.
By late afternoon, we stood before a judge with a short stack of exhibits. My uncle's lawyer, Paul Denton, joined by phone after June gave him notice of the request.
He said his client believed the codicil was being read too broadly.
Judge Calder looked at the attached tree list.
"Does he dispute that these seven numbered trees remain on the land?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Does he agree to leave them and their identifying collars intact until a hearing?"
Paul asked for a few minutes to call his client.
When he returned, he said, "My client wants to move them into secure storage."
The judge looked at Miriam's photographs of the full bags and wet ground.
She signed a temporary order. No moving, selling, pruning, or changing the labels on the listed stock. Both sides had to preserve sale records and messages. A hearing was set for three days later.
The order required a $1,500 bond.
My savings balance was $2,406.
I looked at June.
"If we lose, it isn't just a fee," she said. "It's security for harm from an order that turns out to be wrong."
I understood. I paid it.
That left $906 between me and any broken part my truck might choose to need.
A deputy served Daeho that evening. June sent the order to Paul and Owen. She also arranged for a deputy to meet us at the nursery before the planned pickup, after Daeho sent her a message saying no paper would stop him from protecting his property.
I covered my shift with a coworker. I owed her two Saturday nights.
At four forty the next morning, the deputy's headlights swept across the gate.
A flatbed already sat inside.
Two mother trees were on it. Five stood beside the trenches. A man in a knit cap held a cutter against the collar on M-09.
"Put that down," the deputy called.
The man did.
Daeho came out of the shed, pulling on his coat.
"They're only going under cover."
The deputy held up his copy.
"You were served yesterday. Stop the work."
"I'm fifty-eight years old. I've handled property since before she was born."
"Then you can read the order."
I had pictured myself saying something sharp at that moment.
Instead, I checked the two bags on the truck.
A lifting loop had torn halfway through. Soil pressed against a split seam. Miriam crouched beside it and asked the driver how he had picked it up.
"Bucket hook," he said.
"No. Those loops need a spreader. Set it down the way I show you."
The deputy watched while the driver returned both bags to level ground. Daeho stood by the shed with his fists in his coat pockets.
Miriam bound the damaged bag with a spare support wrap. She said the roots needed moisture and a proper repair that day.
"Will it live?" I asked.
"We caught it. That's the answer for now."
I wrote the time, the tree number, and the damaged seam in my book. Three short wind strokes leaned toward the gate.
The driver came over while I took photographs.
"Your uncle paid a rush fee," he said. "I didn't know about court."
"Keep your work order," June told him. "Someone may need it."
He nodded and left with an empty truck.
Daeho stepped toward me after the deputy moved aside to take a call.
"You spent fifteen hundred dollars to keep seven trees in mud."
"I spent it to keep them where the judge could find them."
He looked at the repaired bag, then at my phone.
"Pictures won't pay a lawyer."
June's phone rang before I could answer. It was Lila's lawyer. The bank confirmation had arrived with the account details.
June listened, then turned toward us.
"The buyer's money went into the same account he used to buy a truck."