"This is private property," I said calmly. "Parcel 117-04-22. Owner: Daniel Mercer. There is no recorded easement, no right-of-way, and no HOA boundary here. You are currently trespassing on private land."
The foreman unfolded the survey map. He was a professional; he knew how to read a legal description. He looked at the concrete monument coordinates on the paper, then looked at the wooden fence posts along the road, and then looked at his own work order.
His face drained of color. "Wait... this survey is from the county recorder?"
"Stamped four days ago," I replied. "If you drive one stake into this soil, you and your company will be named as co-defendants in an intentional trespass and property destruction lawsuit."
The foreman immediately turned to his crew and yelled at the top of his lungs, "PACK IT UP! Load the gear back on the trucks right now!"
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" a sharp, shrieking voice screamed from the road.
A white Mercedes SUV came swerving into my driveway, spraying gravel as it slammed to a halt behind the survey trucks.
Cynthia Vale burst out of the driver's side, her face twisted in pure, unadulterated fury.
"Why are you packing up?!" Cynthia screamed at the foreman, her designer heels clicking frantically against the gravel. "I am paying your company fifteen thousand dollars for this survey! You have a contract!"
The foreman pointed at me. "Lady, this man just showed us a certified county survey. This isn't your land. You don't have an easement here."
"He's lying!" Cynthia roared, her face turning crimson. "He's a squatter! He forged that paper! I told you, he's illegally occupying an abandoned structure!"
I stepped forward. "Cynthia, show the foreman your recorded deed or easement right now."
"Shut up!" she screamed, rounding on me. "You have no right to speak to me! You are interfering with an approved community project! You belong in a cell!"
She turned back to the foreman. "Drive those stakes! I order you to finish this job!"
"Ma'am," the foreman said firmly, stepping back toward his truck. "We don't work on disputed land without recorded title. Call your lawyer. We're leaving."
As the crew scrambled back into their flatbeds, Cynthia looked like she was about to explode. Her body was trembling with rage. She realized her $84,000 project was collapsing right in front of her contractors.