My parents stood in the middle of Grandpa’s farm, told me they’d already sold the land to a developer, shoved “consent” papers at my chest, and sneered that I didn’t own a thing, but when I asked for the probate file number, my dad snapped, my mom smirked, and I drove straight to the county clerk instead

“Ma’am, you called in a trespass complaint, but the title is flagged. If you want this resolved, you resolve it in court.”

“She’s harassing us.”

“Then you request a protective order. You don’t weaponize a trespass call when ownership is in dispute.”

My father tried another angle.

“The survey crew is coming tomorrow. The sheriff will escort them.”

Deputy Landry’s eyes sharpened.

“No one is getting escorted onto disputed land based on a private contract. Not while there’s a recorded pending action.”

I held up my phone.

“Cedar Ridge counsel confirmed they will not proceed with entry or development until this is resolved.”

The deputy glanced at the email on my screen and nodded once.

“Good.”

Then he looked back at my parents.

“And one more thing. This call log shows the reporting party is Gail Rowan. If it’s determined that false statements were made to provoke a law enforcement response, that can be addressed.”

My mother blinked twice.

My father’s mouth opened, then closed.

The deputy turned to me.

“Do you want them trespassed from your presence right now?”

That almost made me laugh.