“Daniel,” he said, “that excavation is completely on your property.”
Caleb let out a low whistle.
Primero sentí alivio. Entonces la ira, más fuerte porque ahora tenía permiso.
– ¿Estás seguro?
Harold parecía ofendido. – Sí.
“Could there be any gray area?”
“No.
“¿Qué tan lejos?”
“At the nearest point, about thirty-seven feet. In the main basin, more like forty yards. They didn’t cut your line. They crossed it with confidence.”
He showed me the overlap. The old stone fence aligned with the documented boundary. The spring channel was mine. The basin was mine. The damaged trees were mine. There was no interpretation that made the Lake Brent and Laurel belong to them.
Harold wrote a formal notice that afternoon. We sent it by certified mail. Stop the work immediately. Restore the ground to your precondition. Eliminate unauthorized structures or improvements. Eighteen days.
I foolishly believed that the facts would solve it.
