Deputy Harris said, "If you're claiming it proves ownership, showing it would help."
Reluctantly, Linda handed it over. Rachel studied the map, then looked at me. "Daniel..."
"What?"
She pointed. The HOA had drawn a new boundary line—not along my fence, not along the old maintenance strip. The line curved across almost five acres of Brooks Ranch: my front yard, part of the driveway, a section of orchard, and half of the old equipment shed, labeled *Brookstone Common Greenbelt Phase 3*.
I stared at it. "What is Phase Three?"
Linda reached for the map; Rachel moved it away. "Good question."
I looked at Linda. "What is Phase Three?"
She crossed her arms. "Long-term community planning."
"On my ranch?"
"Protected landscape integration."
"English."
She became annoyed. "Brookstone is expanding its common green space."
I laughed. "You're expanding it onto my ranch?"
"Not exactly."
"That map says exactly."
Deputy Harris looked at the drawing. "When was this created?"
Linda did not answer.
Rachel found the date in the corner: four months earlier. Then, another detail: the map had a county parcel number—mine. But beside it was a note: *Ownership transition pending.*
My stomach tightened. "Transition?"
Rachel looked at Linda. "Did Brookstone attempt to buy this property?"
Linda said, "There have been discussions."
"With who?" I asked.
"Your family."
"My father died six years ago."
She paused. "With representatives."
"What representatives?"
No answer.
Then Rachel found a second page behind the map: *Property Control Summary*. It claimed Brookstone Hills had entered an agreement to acquire five acres from Brooks Ranch for $1.4 million.
I stared at Linda. "I never agreed to sell."
"You were represented."
"By whom?"
Again, silence.
Then Deputy Harris said, "I think everyone needs to stop touching anything out here until the ownership issue is sorted."
"Fine by me."
Linda looked furious. Rachel kept reading, then her face changed.
"What?" I asked.
She pointed toward the signature block. At the bottom of the acquisition summary was my name, Daniel Brooks, and under it was a signature. It looked like mine, almost, but it was not.