Not destruction.
Not removal.
Situation.
I said nothing.
Gary continued.
“Those trees had been causing some issues.”
“What issues?”
“Light.”
“Branches.”
“Potential hazard.”
“Some were leaning.”
They were not.
“We had debris coming onto our side.”
“Leaves?”
“Branches.”
“You could have called.”
“We'd talked about the vegetation.”
“No.”
“You texted asking to talk.”
“I told you spring.”
Gary shifted.
“The crew believed those trees were on the line.”
“Did you?”
“I believed they were either on the line or close enough that removal made sense.”
“Did you have a survey?”
“No.”
“Did you ask me?”
“We had discussed the general issue.”
“No.”
I said.
“You told me you wanted to discuss it.”
“We never had the discussion.”
His expression cooled.
“I don't want this to become adversarial.”
“It became adversarial when eleven trees disappeared.”
Gary sighed.
“I’m trying to be reasonable.”
“Good.”
“Then answer one question.”
“Did you hire the crew?”
Pause.
“Yes.”
There it was.
“Did you receive written permission from me?”
“No.”
“Did you have a survey showing those trees on your property?”
“No.”
“I didn't think it was necessary.”
I looked toward the stumps.
“Apparently it was.”
Gary tried another angle.
“The property line is not obvious.”
“It will be.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m getting it surveyed.”
His smile disappeared.
“Daniel.”
“This doesn't need lawyers.”
“I didn't mention lawyers.”
“No.”
“But you're documenting everything.”
I said nothing.
He looked toward the house.
“I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I’m reasonable.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
He walked away.
I went inside.
Immediately wrote down the conversation.
Time.
Place.
His statements.
Especially:
I believed they were either on the line or close enough.
I didn't think a survey was necessary.
I hired the crew.
No written permission.
Memory degrades.
Notes taken immediately do not become perfect evidence, but they preserve contemporaneous recollection.
Three days later, Sandra’s letter arrived.
Cream stationery.
Handwritten.
Beautiful penmanship.
Dear Daniel,
She wrote about neighborly relations.
Regret over “miscommunication.”
Gary perhaps being “too direct.”
They never intended distress.
Then:
As a goodwill gesture, we would like to offer $1,000 in full resolution of the matter.
Attached:
One-page release.
Signature line.
I almost admired the confidence.
The arborist had documented replacement value above $41,000.
They offered one thousand.
I did not call.
I did not respond personally.
By then, I already had counsel.
My attorney was Thomas Callaway.
County seat.
Property law.
Timber trespass.
Twenty-two years of practice.
Office above a bank.
Bookshelves full of title reports and agricultural-law binders.
I carried my file box inside.
He spent forty minutes reading before asking anything.
Then:
“You did all this in ten days?”