I made a mistake that week. A stupid one. I decided to handle things like a reasonable adult, which, looking back, was my first error. I drove over to the Ridgewood Estates clubhouse, where Harmon kept his office, walked in during business hours, polite as you please, and asked to speak with him. The receptionist looked at me like I had tracked mud on her carpet, but she called him out. Harmon appeared in a golf shirt and pressed slacks, still wearing that smile. I explained the situation calmly. Told him people in vehicles marked Ridgewood Security had been driving across my property without permission. Asked him to make it stop. He listened with his head tilted slightly, nodding along as if he understood completely.
“Mr. Dawson, I appreciate you coming to me directly. I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding. Our security team occasionally patrols the perimeter of the community. Perhaps they’ve strayed onto your property by accident.” I told him it had happened six times. He did not blink. “Well, I’ll certainly speak with them. But you know, this wouldn’t be an issue if you reconsidered our offer. Progress waits for no one. Earl, may I call you Earl?” I said he could call me Mr. Dawson, and I would appreciate his keeping his people off my land. He smiled wider. “Of course. I’m sure we can work something out.”
I left thinking maybe I had gotten through to him. Maybe a reasonable conversation could fix this. I know what you are thinking. That is it? You just asked nicely and expected a bully to back down. Yeah, I did. Because I was raised to believe that if you treat people with respect, they will return the favor. Took me sixty-two years to learn that only works when the other person has respect to give. Harmon did not. He was just buying time.
The next night they came through again. 11:43 p.m. I know because I was still awake, sitting in the dark, watching the road. The light bar lit up my bedroom ceiling. Blue, red, blue, red. And I heard the engine roar past my house, through my pasture, out the east side, gone in thirty seconds. But those thirty seconds told me everything. Harmon had not spoken to anyone. He had probably laughed about my visit over drinks at the clubhouse. The old man came to complain. Can you believe it? I lay in bed staring at the ceiling until dawn.