Three men in work jackets stood beside a trailer loaded with equipment.
One was examining the chain on our garden gate.
Caleb parked across the entrance.
He got out before I could reach for my seat belt.
“Step away from that gate!”
The men turned.
One held up a clipboard.
“We’ve got permission to begin site preparation.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, climbing out of the car.
The supervisor looked confused.
“Mrs. Miller?”
“Yes.”
He consulted the clipboard.
“We were told the property would be vacant.”
I felt as though the ground had shifted beneath me.
“Vacant?”
“Yes, ma’am. The work order says the owner has relocated.”
Caleb took the paper.
I watched his eyes move down the page.
At the bottom was a company name belonging to Victor Harrington.
Diane arrived several minutes later, followed by two police officers.
The supervisor was bewildered but cooperative.
Once he learned the authorization was disputed, he ordered his crew to leave.
The officers documented the situation and advised everyone not to enter the property without valid permission.
The men loaded their equipment.
One by one, the trucks disappeared down the road.
Only then did I realize I was crying.
Caleb stood beside the gate, holding the unauthorized work order.
“They were really going to do it.”
I couldn’t answer.
