Kurt Ostrowski had hunted on my grandfather’s land for eleven years. He had attended my wedding, shared countless Packers games with my family, and hunted the wooded ridge every November. But that cold morning, something was terribly wrong. Behind him stood Mike Pruett and Russ Lindahl, while beside me stood Dale, a fifty-eight-year-old Army veteran I had invited to hunt for free. Kurt approached me, looking confused. “Amy, what do you mean you didn’t cool off? Brad told us you agreed.” I stared at him. “Agreed to what?”

Kurt pulled a folded document from his orange vest. Across the top were the words HUNTING LEASE AGREEMENT. My name appeared as the owner of the eighty acres, and Kurt was listed as the renter for November’s hunting season. The document claimed I had received $4,000 in cash. Then I noticed the signature at the bottom. It looked like mine, but I had never signed it. My hands began shaking as Kurt explained that Brad had collected the money months earlier. I looked at him and whispered, “My ex-husband has been selling something that doesn’t belong to him.”