Sheriff Hale ignored her frantic gesticulations. He walked past her, adjusted his duty belt, looked at my muddy boots, looked at my rusted Ford pickup, and then looked me directly in the eye.
"Good morning, Judge Mercer."
The silence that fell over my driveway was absolute.
Even the cicadas in the nearby oak trees seemed to stop buzzing.
Cynthia froze mid-gesture, her mouth open, her arms still half-raised in the air. She blinked once. Twice.
"What... what did you just call him?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Judge Mercer," Sheriff Hale repeated clearly, turning to look at her. "Daniel Mercer. Circuit Court Judge for the Ninth Judicial District."
Cynthia’s face went completely ghost-white. The color drained out of her lips. Her clipboard slipped slightly in her grip.
"He's... a judge?" she stammered, looking back and forth between the Sheriff and my muddy work clothes. "No... no, that's impossible. He lives in a run-down farmhouse! He drives a rusted truck! He was digging post holes!"
I looked at her calmly. "Judge or not, Cynthia, I am the owner of this land."
"Why didn't you tell me you were a judge?!" she demanded, her voice suddenly high-pitched and hysterical.
"You never asked who I was," I replied. "The very first morning you met me, you asked if I was the caretaker. When I said no, you asked if I was the contractor. You looked at my truck and my clothes, and you decided what kind of person I was without bothering to check a single record."
Sheriff Hale looked between us, his brow furrowing. "What's going on here, Daniel?"
I handed the Sheriff the certified folder from the County Recorder. "Robert, Ms. Vale called your dispatch claiming I am a squatter trespassing on HOA land. Here is my certified fee-simple deed, my recorded boundary survey, and the original 2002 subdivision plat for Cedar Ridge."
Sheriff Hale took the folder and walked over to the hood of his cruiser. Deputy Miller joined him. For three minutes, the only sound was the rustling of paper as the two lawmen reviewed the certified county seals.
Sheriff Hale lifted his head and looked at Cynthia. "Ms. Vale, do you have a deed or a recorded easement for this parcel?"