“Before we go any further,” he announced.
His voice carried clearly across the room.
“We need to address the elephant in the room.”
His eyes fixed deliberately on Otis.
A tense silence fell over the room.
Otis remained seated.
His expression neutral.
But his massive hands rested calmly on his knees.
Wade continued, growing bolder with each word.
“My grandfather sold that land to proper farmers, not squatters claiming some ancient right.”
“We’ve got documentation that proves it.”
“Your grandfather’s documentation wouldn’t hold up in any court.”
Shirley spoke up.
Her voice sharp with legal authority.
“The Freeman family has clear title going back to 1866.”
“Nobody asked you, woman.”
One of Wade’s crew spat out.
“We’re talking about real property rights here.”
Otis finally stood.
His movement was slow and deliberate.
His size seemed to fill the room.
Though his voice remained quiet.
“My great-grandfather purchased that land fair and square.”
“We’ve worked it, lived on it, made it prosper for over 150 years.”
Wade stepped closer.
His face reddening.
“You people always think you can take what isn’t yours.”
“That land should be part of the new development.”
“Progress, you know.”
“But you’re holding everyone back.”
He looked Otis up and down.
“Sitting there like a fat old fool who doesn’t know when his time’s up.”
The room crackled with tension.
Some people shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Others nodded in agreement with Wade.
Otis simply looked at the younger man.
His expression unchanged.
But something in his steady gaze made Wade’s swagger falter slightly.
“The deeds are registered at the courthouse,” Otis said evenly.
“Anyone who wants to check is welcome to do so.”
“Now, unless you have actual business for this meeting, I believe we were discussing the road maintenance schedule.”
The drive home from the meeting was quiet.
Only the crunch of gravel under tires broke the evening silence.
Otis parked their old pickup beside the farmhouse.
Neither he nor Shirley moved to get out right away.
“They’re not going to let this go,” Shirley said finally.
Her hands were folded in her lap.
The setting sun cast long shadows through the windshield, highlighting the worry lines around her eyes.
Otis nodded slowly.
“No.”
“They’re not.”
He turned off the engine but kept his large hands on the steering wheel.
“Wade’s been waiting for an excuse.”
“That development project just gave him one.”
Inside the farmhouse, Shirley moved through their familiar kitchen, pulling out ingredients for dinner.
Her movements were sharp, precise.
A reflection of her years as an attorney.
“We should document everything,” she said.
“Every interaction.”
“Every threat.”
“Build a paper trail.”
“Already started,” Otis replied.
He pulled a small notebook from his overall pocket.
“Times.”
“Dates.”
“Witnesses.”
“Just like you taught me.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
The screen door creaked.
Followed by three quick knocks.
A familiar pattern.