That was when I stopped thinking about theft as the primary motive.
She was trying to provoke me.
I didn't know why.
But I was beginning to suspect the answer had something to do with that so-called beautification plan.
I reviewed the HOA's publicly available meeting minutes.
Most were ordinary.
Pool maintenance.
Security lighting.
Landscaping contracts.
Clubhouse repairs.
Then I found a line that caught my attention.
Southern Boundary Enhancement Project β Preliminary Approval.
Budget allocation: $185,000.
I stared at the number.
One hundred eighty-five thousand dollars.
For landscaping.
Near my orchard.
I opened the attached proposal.
It described a planned expansion of the walking trail, decorative stonework, and a new garden overlook.
The accompanying rendering showed a beautiful paved path curving around a landscaped seating area.
Flower beds.
Benches.
A small fountain.
And an open view toward the old oak trees.
It looked expensive.
It also appeared to occupy part of my property.
I enlarged the map.
Then compared it with the recorded survey.
My suspicion strengthened.
The proposed trail expansion crossed the existing boundary.
Not by a few inches.
By nearly twelve feet at its widest point.
The seating area overlapped the space where my peach tree and stone wall stood.
And according to the proposal, the land was labeled:
Community Landscape Reserve.
I stared at the screen.
My grandfather's land had been renamed.
Not legally transferred.
Not purchased.
Not condemned.
Simply relabeled in an HOA presentation.
I called the county planning office.
A staff member reviewed the project file.
She confirmed that a preliminary concept plan had been submitted.
No final construction authorization had been issued.
But the plan used a boundary map that differed from the county's parcel records.
I asked who submitted it.
She gave the name of a landscaping consultant.
I recognized the company.
It appeared repeatedly in Willow Creek's meeting minutes.
I searched the business registration.
Then sat back.