The next morning, they made an appointment with Harlan Boyette. Harlan had practiced law in the county for more than thirty years, representing farmers, small contractors, and families whose disputes involved property lines that looked simple until someone showed an old survey. His office stood above a pharmacy in Marrow Bend, with worn carpet and shelves crowded by files from previous generations. When Warren laid out the bank letter and said that the developer had deliberately flooded his land, Harlan did not immediately agree.
"We can say you have suffered a loss," Harlan told him. "We can say the timing raises serious questions. But if we're going to claim somebody caused that loss, we need engineering evidence, records, and a legal basis for placing responsibility where it belongs."
Warren pointed to Casey's photographs. Harlan studied them carefully and said they were valuable evidence of what the site looked like and how the water behaved. They did not, by themselves, prove who approved a change in drainage, whether the construction complied with its permits, or whether the altered system caused a particular amount of damage. He recommended preserving every document, avoiding unauthorized work on disputed drainage structures, and bringing in a specialist who could compare the old and new systems independently.
He also reviewed Warren's loan agreements. The bank could not simply take title because Gerald disliked his decisions, but it had contractual remedies if a valid default occurred and notice requirements were satisfied. Harlan explained those remedies carefully, along with the possibility of seeking negotiated time, bringing a separate claim for damage, and asking the bank to reconsider its valuation in light of the evidence. He made no promise that the legal system would move fast enough to prevent every financial injury.
"You sound less cheerful than the people who came to sell me something," Warren said.
"I'm cheaper than a bad promise," Harlan replied. "Not cheap, mind you. Just cheaper."
Casey liked him immediately. He treated her observations seriously without pretending they made her an expert in every part of the dispute. He asked whether she could prepare a chronology identifying each photograph, measurement, permit, and conversation by date. She said she already had most of it and would complete the rest by the weekend.
Harlan then asked about the developer. Delta Ridge Development had been acquiring land along the county road through a network of local companies, and one of its lenders was Cornerstone. Harlan knew that financing a development did not automatically make the bank responsible for a contractor's drainage decisions, and he was careful about that distinction. But the overlap meant there were relationships worth documenting, especially if Gerald's repeated purchase proposals had been coordinated with people who benefited from the construction.
The hydrologist they hired was Renata Cho, a quiet woman in her forties who had spent much of her career examining the unromantic consequences of moving water through places where people lived and farmed. She arrived with survey maps, a laptop full of rainfall records, and a field crew