“I see my property.”
A pickup slowed.
Harold Pierce was driving.
He did not stop, but he gave Garrett a small nod.
Victoria noticed.
Her anger changed into awareness.
The discussion was no longer private.
“Open it,” she said.
“No.”
“I need to get through.”
“No.”
“My house is three minutes away.”
“By my road.”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s farther.”
Victoria’s jaw clenched.
“Garrett.”
He waited.
For the first time in weeks, she had no physical way to convert disagreement into access.
No latch to push.
No post to flex.
No opening wide enough for an SUV.
She looked at the gate.
Then at him.
“Fine.”
She turned.
Walked back to the SUV.
For a moment, Garrett expected one final argument.
None came.
Victoria started the engine.
Reversed carefully.
Turned around.
Then drove south.
The legal route.
The long route.
The same route everyone else used.
Garrett remained beside the wall until the SUV disappeared.
He did not celebrate.
He picked up the wrench.