Chapter 8
Monday morning brought a white SUV to the curb before eight. Two people wearing reflective vests stepped out and began photographing the fence. One carried a measuring wheel.
Tasha watched from the upstairs window with a cold sensation in her stomach. Nia stood behind her holding a cereal bowl.
"Are they taking down the garage?" the girl asked.
"No one is taking anything down today."
Tasha called Maya, then went outside. Elijah followed at a distance with his phone already recording video. He kept the camera pointed low enough to avoid shoving it into anyone's face.
"I'm the property owner," Tasha said. "I have disputed any permission to enter. Please leave the premises until the lawyers sort this out."
The taller surveyor lowered his measuring wheel. "Ma'am, we're subcontractors. We were given an access order."
The second worker looked uncomfortable, not defiant. He glanced toward the kitchen window, where Nia's silhouette appeared behind the curtain, then lowered his camera. Tasha reminded herself that these men had probably been sent out with a folder and a street address, not the whole family's history.
She did not want her anger to land on people who were doing a job they thought was authorized. Her mother used to say that a closed gate was an answer and didn't need shouting to make it true. Tasha stood beside the boundary marker and kept her voice level. Each calm sentence felt difficult, but every sentence also made a clean record of her refusal.
"An order from whom?"
"Bell Redevelopment."
"Do you have a court order?"
"No, ma'am. A work authorization."
Tasha handed him Maya's letter and asked him to contact his supervisor. The two workers retreated to the sidewalk without arguing. They were not the people she needed to fight.
Ten minutes later, Owen Price arrived in a silver sedan.
He climbed out with the smooth smile Elijah remembered from family cookouts. Today he wore a blue blazer and carried no folder.
"Tasha," he said. "This is unnecessary drama. Nobody's touching your home."
"Then why are strangers measuring my property?"
"Due diligence. We discussed that."
"You discussed it with my husband. I refused to sell."
Owen glanced at Elijah's raised phone. "Tell your son to stop filming me."
"He's standing on our porch."
"Then you should teach him the difference between protecting his mother and interfering with a business agreement."
Elijah's heart hammered, but he held his position. "Did you watch Mom sign the papers?"
Owen smiled without showing his teeth. "I don't answer questions from children."
"I'm seventeen. I can understand a yes or no."
Tasha stepped between them. "You'll speak to my attorney from now on, Owen."
His eyes cooled. "Your attorney will cost money. Your husband's business is already in trouble. Do you want to put him out of work?"
"I didn't create his debts."
"No. But you can make them worse."
Mrs. Diaz opened her front door across the lawn. "Is everything all right over here?"
Owen looked toward her. For the first time his smile flickered. She held a small notebook in her hand and did not bother pretending she had just wandered outside.
Tasha kept her voice even. "We're finished."
Owen walked toward his car. At the curb he turned back.
"A word of advice, Elijah. Phones don't tell you everything that happened before you started recording."
"Neither do papers with fake signatures," Elijah answered.
Owen opened his car door so hard it bounced on its hinge. Then he drove off, leaving the surveyors on the sidewalk with no clear instructions.
Maya arrived fifteen minutes later and spoke with the crew leader. She documented that no entry had occurred after Tasha's objection and asked for the work authorization. The supervisor emailed it by midday.
The document showed the exact same forged signature copied from the recorded option, down to a tiny stray ink mark under the last letter.
"Signatures can be reused electronically with authorization," Maya cautioned. "But here your mother disputes giving any. The identical mark across documents is worth examining."
Elijah compared the two pages on his tablet. "Whoever made this didn't even bother to sign again."
Maya nodded. "We now have a trail."
That evening, Marcus called Tasha from his rented room. His voice was low.
"Owen says Bell will demand the advance back immediately if you keep fighting," he said. "And he says they'll come after our bank account."
Tasha looked at the duffel, now locked in a closet at Mrs. Diaz's house after Maya advised that nobody spend or move the cash unnecessarily.
"Then we need the agreement he made you sign," she said.
Marcus was silent.
May you like
"You still have your copy, don't you?"
"I never had one," he answered.
