Solicitor Brand, a plump capital attorney in an oiled silk gown, stood sweating before the bench. Beside him stood Alderman Vance Corley and Sheriff Vance Gault. Their hands clamped in was heavy iron manacles guarded by four royal marshals.
“My Lord,” Brand began, his voice wavering, “the Trade group acted in good faith under commercial leases granted by the Country Governor forty years ago. Millions of crowns have been invested in dikes, irrigation channels, and flax processing mills on the Green River. Even if an ancient boundary error occurred, forty years of uninterrupted adverse possession gives our clients equitable title under common law!”
Lord Justice Kenneth stood up from his seat, towering over the roofed porch. He struck the oak bench with his ivory gavel. TOCK!
“Adverse possession?” Kenneth’s voice rang through the square like an iron bell. “You dare utter the word ‘equity’ before the King’s Bench while standing beside a confession of scraped thick parchment, an embezzled water endowment of four thousand crowns, and thirty-eight hired blades sent to burn survey books?”
The High Judge pointed his gavel directly at Alderman Corley.
“The law of the realm is total: Fraus omnia corrumpit—Fraud corrupts all things from the root! A lease born of a scraped parchment and a moved milestone isn’t a title. It’s a crime that compounds with every season’s harvest. Every sheaf of wheat cut from those river bottoms was stolen property. Every rent collected was an act of larceny against the Crown!”
