“Do you have documentation of that update from the county surveyor’s office?”
Silence. Gibson’s mouth opened then closed.
“I’d have to check my records.”
“I checked them for you, Andre said. He held up a printed page, the county’s confirmation letter stamped and dated.
“There has been no update to the reference monument coordinates for this parcel since the original plat was filed. The county confirmed it. The marker hasn’t moved in 22 years.”
Gibson shifted in his chair. The sweat at his temples was running now. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Andre let the silence hold for three seconds, then four, then five. He had learned this from Ruth. She told him silence was a weapon. Let the lie sit in the air, she’d said. Let everyone smell it.
Then Andre placed both overlay sheets on the table and pulled out the index card from the front pocket of the briefcase — one question written in a child’s careful block letters, underlined twice.
“Mr. Gibson, I have one more question.”
The courtroom was so quiet you could hear the ceiling fan turning above the bench.
“I also obtained the survey you conducted for the Henderson property — the land Witmore Development purchased last year. Same county, same neighborhood, same client.”
He paused.
“In that survey, the reference point is offset from the original monument by the same distance, 14 feet. Same direction, east. Same result. The boundary shifts in Witmore’s favor.”
Gibson said nothing. His hand gripped the armrest of the witness chair so hard his knuckles went white. Two properties. Same surveyor. Same offset. Same client. Same outcome.
Andre looked directly at Gibson. His voice didn’t waver.
“Mr. Gibson, did Whitmore Development or anyone acting on their behalf instruct you to use a shifted reference point for these surveys? Yes or no?”
Gibson’s eyes darted to Ashton. Then, involuntarily, helplessly, they darted to Judge Caldwell. That glance said everything — the connection between the surveyor, the company, and the judge laid bare in a single terrified look.
“I… Gibson swallowed. I was given coordinates to work from.”
“Given by whom?”
“By the client’s office.”
The gallery erupted, voices overlapping. Someone shouted.
Ashton was on her feet objecting.
Caldwell banged the gavel.