"How do we prove that?"
"Let me worry about that. You just keep your head down."
But keeping my head down got harder when Cassandra escalated.
December 3rd, I got a call from Boulder County Code Enforcement, a man named Rick Pollson, who sounded tired in the way government workers do when they're handling their 50th complaint of the day.
"Mr. Flint, we've received a report that you're operating an illegal dumping site on parcel 5593240."
"What? I don't even live there."
"The complaint says there are piles of construction debris, old vehicles, and possible hazardous waste. I'm required to inspect. If the violations are confirmed, you'll face fines starting at $500 per day."
I drove up that afternoon with my phone recording.
The property was pristine. Well, except for the 96 houses Cassandra had illegally built.
No debris, no vehicles, nothing.
Rick Pollson met me at the entrance, clipboard in hand. He was about 50, sunburned, wearing a county vest.
He walked the perimeter, checked behind the houses, took photos. Finally, he came back shaking his head.
"There's nothing here. Someone filed a false report."
"Who filed it?"
He checked his notes.
"Anonymous tip, but it came through Mrs. Whitmore's office as a concerned citizen complaint."
"So she's trying to get me fined for violations that don't exist on land she's currently occupying."
Rick looked at me for a long moment.
"Off the record, I've inspected six Whitmore projects. Every single one had complaints filed against neighboring landowners right before construction permits were approved. It's a pattern."
He handed me his card.
"If you need a witness statement, call me."
I drove home with that card in my pocket and rage in my chest.
Cassandra wasn't just stealing my land. She was trying to bury me in bureaucratic quicksand while she finished construction.
But what she didn't know, what nobody knew except Lydia, was that every move she made was digging her grave deeper.
By Christmas, 84 houses were occupied. Families hung lights, kids built snowmen, and I had a court date scheduled for January 12th.
January 4th, eight days before my court date, I got a text from my daughter Emma at 11 p.m.
"Dad, did you get arrested? Someone posted on Facebook that you're harassing families in a neighborhood. It has 300 shares."
My stomach dropped.
I opened Facebook, which I hadn't used since my divorce, and found the post immediately.
It was pinned at the top of the Boulder County Community Watch group, written by Cassandra herself.
"Alert! Local man Dakota Flint has been stalking our family-friendly Ridgeline Heights community, taking photos of children, making residents feel unsafe. He claims to own our neighborhood despite clear legal title. Boulder County Sheriff's aware. Please report any sightings. Protect your families."
The comments were a dumpster fire.
People calling me a predator, suggesting I belonged on a registry.
Someone posted a photo of my Silverado with the license plate visible.
Captioned, "This is his truck. Stay safe, everyone."
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely type.
I called Lydia.
She answered on the first ring.
"I saw it. Don't respond. Don't comment. Don't defend yourself."