But Marjorie's real estate investor allies dominated the room, painting me as an obstructionist preventing neighborhood enhancement and property value growth. The vote: 18 to 9 supporting "reasonable resolution."
Here's what they didn't know: local reporter Sarah Martinez was recording everything from the back row, asking pointed questions about who profits when longtime residents get forced out.
The real breakthrough came when I started cross-referencing Derek's trucks with DOT transportation records. His official paperwork consistently reported 15-ton loads. My scale measurements: consistently 40 tons. Federal transportation fraud. Systematic falsification of commercial vehicle weights.
That's when I realized Marjorie hadn't just picked a fight with the wrong engineer; she'd accidentally handed me evidence of federal crimes.
Marjorie's next move proved she'd completely lost her mind. Three days after the county inspection, I found a certified letter that made my hands shake: Notice of Intent to Sue stamped across the top in blood-red ink. Marjorie Whitman, representing Millbrook Heights HOA, was threatening to drag me to court for "intentional interference with legitimate commercial operations."
Legitimate commercial operations on my private bridge without my permission.
Her legal theory was breathtaking in its audacity: because Derek's trucks had been using my bridge for weeks, they'd established customary access rights through "adverse possession of easement." I couldn't legally revoke access without providing reasonable alternative accommodation.
I called attorney Rebecca Walsh and read the filing aloud. The silence stretched so long I thought my phone had died.
"Roman, in twenty years of practice, this is the most legally delusional document I've ever encountered. She's arguing that systematic trespassing creates property rights. It's like claiming you own someone's house because you broke in repeatedly."
But legal insanity doesn't mean harmless. Fighting frivolous lawsuits still costs thousands in attorney fees, court costs, and lost sleep. Marjorie was betting I'd surrender rather than spend my retirement savings defending obvious property rights. She'd picked the wrong engineer to intimidate.
Derek simultaneously launched his psychological warfare campaign. Construction crews started working late directly at my property line, running diesel generators and floodlights until midnight. The constant mechanical rumbling made sleep impossible. The acrid smell of burning diesel fuel mixed with concrete dust turned my peaceful evenings into industrial torture sessions.
Equipment began accidentally blocking my driveway during peak hours. Cement mixers would park across my gate for brief "equipment checks" that lasted exactly long enough to make me miss furniture delivery appointments. When I asked crews to move, they'd claim radio problems or mysteriously missing drivers.