A second camera captured Todd photographing a drainage culvert near the boundary.
The images were clear enough to establish where he stood and what he appeared to be doing, though they didn't reveal his intentions.
Hank contacted Todd.
The conversation was uncomfortable.
At first, Todd claimed he was simply checking the fence line.
Hank asked whether he'd obtained permission.
Todd hesitated.
"No."
"Then please don't enter my property again without asking."
The man sighed.
"Moren thinks the boundary is wrong."
Hank frowned.
"Based on what?"
Todd paused.
"Some development maps."
Hank looked toward the eastern field.
"What development maps?"
Todd immediately became cautious.
"I'm not sure."
For several seconds, Hank remained silent.
Then asked whether the maps came from Cornerstone.
Todd wouldn't answer directly.
He apologized for entering the property and promised not to do it again.
After the call, Hank stood in his kitchen holding the phone.
He'd expected Todd to defend his wife.
But the mention of development maps troubled him.
Why would the HOA president need a different map from the county survey?
And why was her husband examining an old drainage marker near the easement corridor?
The next clue came from another farmer.
Russell Grant owned eighty acres on the western side of Prairie Meadows. He was seventy-one, gray-bearded, and had spent his life growing vegetables and rotating small grain crops.
Hank knew him casually.
They occasionally borrowed tools or exchanged information about local equipment suppliers.
One afternoon, Russell called.
"Hank, you got time for coffee?"
The question sounded ordinary.
But his tone didn't.
Hank drove over that evening.
Russell's kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and baked bread.
A large folder sat on the table.
The older farmer opened it before Hank could sit down.
"Tell me if any of this looks familiar."
Inside were letters.
HOA notices.
Photographs.
Legal correspondence.
And several offers to purchase land.
Hank began reading.
The complaints resembled the ones he'd received.
Noise.
Agricultural appearance.
Drainage concerns.
Vehicle access.
And demands for expensive improvements.
Russell watched his expression.
"She's been after me too."
Hank looked up.
"For how long?"
"Almost two years."
The older man leaned back.
"Started right after I turned down an offer to sell."
Hank froze.
"Who made the offer?"
Russell pushed a letter across the table.
It came from a company called Plains Crest Development Partners.