"Then tomorrow's review will include an ownership dispute."
"There is no ownership dispute!"
I pointed toward my house. "My deed says otherwise."
Deputy Harris looked toward the workers. "Take the fencing back down."
Linda snapped, "You cannot order contractors off HOA property!"
Harris turned slowly. "Ms. Parker, earlier today you called us here and claimed Mr. Brooks was trespassing."
"Yes!"
"You could not show clear ownership."
"We have documents!"
"Now you've returned with contractors and are blocking his driveway for site security, without a court order." Linda clenched her jaw. Harris continued, "Nobody is being arrested. Nobody is taking possession tonight. If Brookstone believes it owns this land, take the documents to court."
That was enough for the fence crew. The foreman walked over. "Mr. Brooks, we were told the property had closed."
"It didn't."
He nodded. "Then we are leaving."
Good men; contractors were not the enemy. They took down the panels they had installed: no damage, no argument. The *Brookstone Phase 3 Property* sign disappeared back onto their truck. Within twenty minutes, the driveway was open again.
William Price stayed; he wanted answers. So did I.
We moved to the ranch house. William sat at my kitchen table with Rachel, me, and Deputy Harris. Linda refused to come inside; she stayed outside, talking on the phone.
William opened his financing file. "This is what the bank received."
The first page was the twenty-seven-acre purchase agreement: $6.8 million, my fake signature. The second page showed an $800,000 deposit: seller, Daniel Brooks; payment destination, Blue Ridge Land Partners.
I pointed at it. "That company is not mine."
William nodded. "I understand that now."
"Did anyone verify?"
"We received a representation certificate."
"From who?"
"Blue Ridge."
"Not me."
"No."
Rachel asked, "Did the bank try to contact Daniel directly?"
William looked uncomfortable. "Yes. And we were told seller contact had to go through the acquisition company."
"Who told you?"
"Brookstone."
"Who at Brookstone?"
He checked. "Linda Parker, of course."
Then another document appeared: *Seller Communication Restriction*. It claimed I did not want direct contact because I was transitioning out of active ranch operations.
Sam was standing near the kitchen doorway; he laughed. "Daniel was moving hay at 6:00 this morning."
William looked embarrassed. "I can only tell you what our file says."
"Read more," I said.
He did. The document claimed I planned to relocate to Colorado after closing. It claimed my ranch manager would retire.