The Neighbor Woman responded.
“No. Ignore that.”
The homeowner froze.
He replayed it.
“Isn’t that the line?”
“No. Ignore that.”
He played the next section.
One worker asked again.
“You sure?”
She replied.
“Yes. My attorney checked.”
The homeowner leaned back.
No attorney had contacted him.
No surveyor had appeared.
No legal notice.
Nothing.
The footage continued.
One worker began digging.
The Neighbor Woman directed placement.
“Start here.”
Twenty-three feet inside the property.
The homeowner exported the recording immediately.
Then duplicated it.
One copy on his computer.
One on an external drive.
One in cloud storage.
He labeled the folder.
Fence Construction.
He did not tell her.
Not yet.
The next three days were quiet.
Then she moved lawn chairs onto his side of the fence.
Two chairs.
A small table.
An umbrella.
The homeowner came home and found them beside his pepper plants.
He photographed everything.
Then walked to her door.
She opened before he knocked twice.
“Your furniture is on my property.”
“No.”
“Move it.”
“It’s on my side.”
“The fence doesn’t create ownership.”
She smiled.
“It marks ownership.”
“No. It marks where you built a fence.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You’re harassing me.”
“I asked you to move your chairs.”
“You keep coming to my house.”
“This is the second time.”
“I’m documenting everything.”
“So am I.”
That silenced her for a second.
Then she smiled again.
“Good.”
He walked away.
The next morning, her dog was in his yard.
Not accidentally.
The gate in the new fence was open.
The dog wandered through tomato rows, knocked over one cage, and dug near an herb bed.
The homeowner photographed that too.
He did not confront her.
He simply repaired the damage.
That afternoon she planted vegetables on his side.
Three rows.
Squash.
Lettuce.
Something else.
The homeowner stood looking at the fresh soil.
Then at the camera.
He almost admired the confidence.
Almost.
By the end of the week, rumors began.
He did not know that at first.
He noticed behavior.
At the hardware store, a man who normally greeted him with a nod looked away.
At the diner, two conversations stopped when he entered.
At the feed shop, the cashier acted unusually formal.
Then came the gas station.
A local man he recognized but barely knew was filling his truck.
The homeowner stood at the next pump.
The man looked over.
“Rough business with that land thing.”
The homeowner glanced up.
“What land thing?”
The man hesitated.
“You and your neighbor.”
The homeowner said nothing.
The man continued.
“Word is you’re trying to take part of her family property.”
The homeowner stared.
“What?”
The man shrugged.
“That’s what people are saying.”
“Who?”