“Do not threaten anyone.”
“Also know.”
“Do not say ‘I own the underground, get off my rock.’”
He smiled.
“You ruin everything.”
“That's why you pay me.”
Then her voice became serious.
“Who financed the project?”
“Community bank.”
“Construction loan?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“About three point two million, from what residents were told.”
“Get me the lender.”
“Why?”
“Because lenders care about title problems much more than HOA presidents do.”
The Homeowner understood immediately.
“When?”
“Not yet.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Let them establish exactly what they’re doing.”
He looked toward the construction site.
“You want them to build?”
“I want evidence.”
“Of?”
“That after receiving actual or constructive notice, they permanently obstructed a recorded property right.”
“Did they receive notice?”
“You asked for title clarification four times.”
“Yes.”
“Did you mention the 1948 deed?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“Why good?”
“Because if they conducted proper title work before spending $1.6 million, they should have found it themselves.”
The Homeowner stared toward the field.
“So we wait.”
“For now.”
Monday morning, the first concrete forms were installed.
Tuesday, steel.
Wednesday, inspection.
Thursday afternoon, trucks arrived.
Seven mixers.
Exactly as scheduled.
The Homeowner drank coffee on his porch.
His neighbor from across the county road stopped in a pickup.
“You going to let them do that?”
“For a little longer.”
The neighbor stared.
“They're pouring across your road.”
“I see it.”
“You planning something?”
“No.”
The neighbor laughed.
“That means yes.”
By ten thirty, the foundation pour had begun.
Concrete flowed.
Workers moved hoses.
Vibrators hummed.
The President arrived in the white SUV.
Today she wore orange again.
Apparently orange had become her construction-project uniform.
She walked directly toward the fence.
The Homeowner had moved closer with his old black dirt bike.
He sat on it without starting the engine.
Plain gray T-shirt.
Jeans.
Work boots.
The President smiled.
“Come to watch progress?”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward the foundation.
“You see where that east wall is?”
He looked.
“Yes.”
“That was your road.”
“I noticed.”
“You could have saved yourself months of trouble by cooperating.”
The Homeowner checked his watch.
The President continued.
“You always thought because your grandfather drove cattle here eighty years ago, you had permanent rights.”
He looked toward her.
“Did I?”
“The world changes.”
“Yes.”
“Property changes.”
“Sometimes.”
“Communities evolve.”
“Sure.”
She frowned.
He was not giving her enough emotional resistance.
“You're unusually calm.”
“I slept well.”
One of the contractors poured another section.