And the flourish beneath the final letter was copied from an old engineering report available online.
I recognized it.
Someone had copied my signature from a public document.
Then pasted it onto a property access agreement.
I looked toward the inspector.
"I need a copy of that."
He nodded.
"The county will preserve the document submitted with the application."
The deputy stepped closer.
"Ma'am, where is the original?"
She froze.
"What?"
"The original signed agreement."
She swallowed.
"Our office has it."
"Can you identify who witnessed the signature?"
She looked toward me.
Then toward the inspector.
For the first time, she seemed to understand the danger.
Not from the spicy peach.
Not from the camera.
From the paper in her own hand.
Because stealing fruit might result in a complaint.
But submitting a fabricated property authorization in support of a major construction project raised much more serious questions.
She tried to recover the document.
The inspector kept it.
"We'll need to verify this."
Her voice sharpened.
"Give that back."
He remained calm.
"It's relevant to the application file. We'll follow the appropriate records procedure."
She looked toward the deputy.
"This is harassment!"
I said nothing.
The deputy asked her to provide identification and contact information for the report.
She reluctantly complied.
The inspector photographed the wall.
The tree.
The existing walkway.
The warning signs.
Then he measured the distance between several reference points.
When he finished, he looked toward me.
"Your attorney should contact the county regarding the disputed application documents."
"He will."
The inspector nodded.
"Good."
The HOA president stood beside her handbag, breathing heavily.
Her face was no longer red from the chili.
It was red from anger.
She looked toward me.
"You think you've won?"
I met her eyes.
"This isn't a game."
She gave a bitter laugh.
"You have no idea what's coming."
I nodded slowly.
"Then I guess we'll find out."
She turned.
Walked toward the parking area.