"We are the HOA, we don't need—" Brenda started.
"You poured concrete footings literally on the edge of a protected riparian waterway!" Miller barked. "You didn't file for an environmental impact assessment, you didn't get a retaining wall permit, and you created a direct public hazard. I am issuing an immediate stop-work order and an emergency safety citation."
David Hayes, my lawyer, had also arrived by this point, standing comfortably on my side of the creek after driving the long way around on the back dirt roads. He was taking notes with a smug smile.
"How much is the citation?" Greg asked, his voice shaking.
"For unauthorized concrete pouring in a waterway buffer zone, plus creating a lethal hazard, the fine is $2,000 a day," Miller said flatly. "Backdated to when you installed it. Plus, you have 48 hours to remove this gate and the concrete pillars entirely and restore the bank to its natural state. If you don't, the county will bring in a crew to do it and bill your HOA for the labor."
Brenda looked like she was going to be physically sick. The trap she had so carefully laid for me had just snapped shut on her own leg.
But I wasn't finished.
"Hey, Inspector Miller!" I called out. "While you're here, I want to officially register my property as a landlocked parcel."
Miller looked up. "You don't have secondary access?"
"I do, actually. There's an old county logging road that touches the back three acres of my property," I yelled over the noise of the rushing water. "Since my neighbors here have made it clear they don't want me using their front entrance, I'm going to officially change my property address to route through the back road. I'm permanently decommissioning the Miller's Creek crossing."
Brenda's head snapped up. "Decommissioning? What does that mean?"