She frowned slightly, tapping her pen against the clipboard. "The contractor?"
"No."
Her eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. "Then who authorized you to work on this structure?"
"Nobody," I replied.
A triumphant, nasty smile spread across her face. "That’s what I thought."
I set my level down on the fence rail. "Nobody authorized me because nobody needs to."
Her smile flickered. "I am Cynthia Vale. President of the Cedar Ridge Homeowners Association."
She waited, clearly expecting me to bow down or apologize. When I said nothing, she pointed her pen at my fence. "You cannot make exterior structural alterations or land alterations without architectural review board approval. Everything within our community development perimeter is subject to HOA standards."
"This property isn't part of Cedar Ridge," I said mildly.
"Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, I don't have time to educate a squatter on property law," she sneered.
I almost laughed. I had spent nearly three decades interpreting property law. But I saw no reason to hand her my résumé. "Have a good day, Cynthia."
"I am not finished talking to you!" she barked.
"I am," I said, turning back to my work. "On my land, I end conversations whenever I choose."
Her face flushed red with rage. "We will see about that. Management will verify this parcel, and until then, you cease all unapproved work immediately!"
She stomped back to her luxury vehicle, but before she got in, she paused and stared intently across my eastern pasture toward her subdivision. There was something in that look—not just anger, but a cold, calculating greed.
The next morning, I woke up to find a bright neon-orange notice stapled directly into the historic oak frame of my front gate. CEDAR RIDGE HOA: NOTICE OF UNAUTHORIZED OCCUPANCY AND ILLEGAL SQUATTING.