“If you continue interfering, the delay charge still applies.”
“Then send me the legal basis for that too.”
She shoved the documents back into her portfolio.
I walked the perimeter.
Spoil now covered part of the cattle lane.
A fence panel had been moved.
Equipment tracks ran near the shallow water line.
I flagged the spot.
At 10:42, a white utility-survey truck entered.
Two workers got out.
One carried a grade rod.
The other a clipboard.
They walked directly to a stake beside the concrete pad.
One read the painted numbers.
Looked at his sheet.
Looked uphill.
Then said something quietly to the other.
Both turned toward the ridge.
Ray joined them.
“What are you checking?” I asked.
“Field control.”
“For what?”
“Pump station.”
I looked at the concrete.
“Seems like somebody already picked the spot.”
Nobody smiled.
Monica approached.
“Stay away from the survey crew.”
“I’m outside the barrier.”
“This is an active construction site.”
“It became one after you removed my fence.”
Ray raised a hand.
“Let’s keep everybody clear of equipment.”
I pointed toward the clipboard.
“What plan are you using?”
Monica answered.
“That’s project material.”
Ray looked at the surveyor.
“Approved station sheet?”
The man nodded.
I heard it clearly.
Approved station sheet.
“What sheet number?”
The surveyor folded the page inward.
“You’ll need that from the engineer.”
Monica looked at me as though the answer settled something.
“There.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“That gave me another question.”
I walked uphill along my fence.
Forty yards from the new concrete pad, near an old corner post, I found another survey stake partly hidden by grass.
Same project abbreviation.
Different station number.
I photographed it.
Then framed a second picture with the new pump station visible downhill.
I did not know what the numbers meant.
I did not need to pretend I did.
Two stakes tied to one project, separated by forty yards, were worth documenting.
When I returned, Monica was waiting beside my truck.
Mud now coated her shoes.
“You should think carefully about what you’re doing.”
“I am.”
“You’re putting service to more than one hundred households at risk.”
“The station isn’t operating.”
“Because of your interference.”
“No.”
I pointed uphill.
“Because the county inspector asked why it was here.”
Her fingers tightened around the portfolio.
“Do you want to be the reason families receive sewer-delay notices?”
There it was.
She had moved from authority to pressure.
First she had the right.
Then the contractor had paperwork.
Now homeowners would suffer because I asked for proof.
I pulled out my phone.
“Send me that.”
“What?”
“Put in writing that I’m responsible for community sewer delays while you still haven’t shown me a right to use my land.”
For the first time, Monica had no immediate answer.
She turned away.
At 12:36, Ray Collins received a phone call.
He walked into the field.
Talked for several minutes.
When he returned, he told his operators to shut down.
Monica crossed toward him immediately.
“What happened?”
“My risk manager wants written site-control confirmation.”
“You already have authorization.”
“We have your authorization.”
“Yes.”
“For the project.”
“Yes.”
“Not proof the HOA controls this parcel.”
Monica lowered her voice.
“You’re letting a landowner derail a public-safety project.”
Ray looked toward me.