"What's new is that I'm finished being disrespected. You think because you bought some old estate, you can ignore the community around it."
"I have respected every lawful boundary between us."
"Boundaries?" She barked a laugh. "I have lived in this area for eight years. I know what this neighborhood is supposed to look like. You don't look like the people who own properties like this. I've never seen you at our events, never seen you contribute to our upkeep, and you expect everyone to believe you just belong here?"
James had heard the underlying accusation before. He had heard versions of it in court hallways, in hotel lobbies when traveling with protected witnesses, and in rooms where people who had never met him asked whether he was there to move furniture. He was not surprised by the words. Their familiarity made them no easier to accept. He looked at Patricia through the bars and thought about how little information a person needed to make such a confident judgment.
"I don't need you to believe I belong," he said. "I own Whitfield. The county records establish that. My private property isn't an extension of your homeowners association."
"Your house?" Patricia laughed again. "Honey, you can't just appear on a property and announce that it's yours. The Whitfields haven't lived here in years. This place was effectively abandoned before all this started."
James felt his patience settle into a colder form. "You know that isn't true. You've sent me notices at this address. You hired a crew to mark my land. You tried to close my access lane. And you offered me an annexation agreement with your signature on it."
"I know that you're causing trouble. And I know that I have a responsibility to protect my neighborhood."
"Then protect the land you actually have responsibility for."
Patricia's expression changed. She was accustomed to deciding when an argument ended, and James had offered her no point of entry. She looked toward the house, then down the driveway, as if searching for an audience. "Get off that property," she said abruptly. "Now."
"No, ma'am. This is my home."
"I'm calling the police. I'll tell them you're trespassing on a vacant estate and that you're armed. They can sort out who has the right to be here."
James felt a small tightening in his chest, not because he feared ordinary police contact, but because he knew what those specific words could do to the people receiving the call. He had spent enough nights approaching unknown houses to understand the difference between dispatching officers to verify a property dispute and dispatching them to confront a potentially armed intruder. Patricia was creating risk for him, for the deputies, and for anybody else who might be nearby. He chose his response carefully.
"Do not make a false report about a weapon," he said. "I'm standing in front of you with empty hands. You've seen my identity and my deed information. If you have a legitimate concern, say what actually happened."