Roderick heard him and looked at the excavator operator. "The drawings say the route's clear," he said.
"Whose drawings?" Everett demanded.
"The ones in the packet," Roderick answered.
"The drawings put a road through an actual pond. I don't think their authors have been here."
Marjorie raised the bullhorn. "You have reached the end of your deadline, Mr. Hale. If you refuse to surrender, you assume the consequences. Leave the barn now."
Everett considered staying behind steel. It was the safer location while the door held, but he could see the crew moving toward a water line that served both the fields and the equipment yard. Destroying it would put workers and bystanders at risk from a sudden release of water. He decided he needed to state a warning in person where everyone could hear it and where his cameras would record their response.
He stepped through the side exit with his palms open at shoulder height. "I am Everett Hale, recorded owner of Red Hollow Farm," he said clearly. "I do not consent to your entry, seizure, or excavation. You've been warned that underground lines cross this route. If you continue, you'll damage the farm and possibly injure your own people."
Two guards closed around him before he reached the center of the yard. One took his arm while the other demanded the phone, and when Everett asked for their names, the first tightened his grip. Everett did not pull away. He looked toward the security camera fixed above the barn office and stated the time aloud.
"I am being physically restrained on my own property after warning the crew about buried infrastructure," he said. "I am not resisting. I have not threatened anyone. Please release my arm."
Roderick strode over. "You're interfering with the removal," he said.
"I'm standing still," Everett replied. "Your people are holding me. You can see that difference on the camera."
Marjorie approached with a fresh set of papers. They were cleaner than the fake court order and carried an apparently simple title: Voluntary Access Confirmation. She offered Everett a pen and told him the matter could end right there if he signed. He glanced down and saw language granting permanent passage rights across the northern fields, releasing existing claims, and acknowledging a debt he had never owed.
"Why do you need my signature?" he asked. "You've been telling everyone since six ten that the association already owns the land. If that's true, what is this supposed to accomplish?"
For an instant, Marjorie had no ready answer. Roderick stopped looking at the paper and looked at her instead. Two guards exchanged glances, and the excavator operator, standing near the machine, took a step away from the controls. Everett watched the moment travel through them: the realization that their own employer might not believe the story she had ordered them to enforce.
"It confirms the handover," Marjorie said finally. "Standard procedure."
"There's no lawful handover to confirm," Everett replied. "I will not sign a document giving you what your court order claims you've already taken."
"Then you'll stay with security until the work is finished," she said. "Mr. Slean, I don't want him interfering again."