"Then show yours."
"Our legal position will not be litigated in a public meeting."
"You publicly called me a squatter."
"This is exactly the intimidation I'm talking about."
Tom stood.
"No, Cynthia."
She looked at him.
"Sit down, Tom."
"No."
He walked to the front holding three rolled maps.
"I want to know when these changed."
He opened the first.
PROPOSED ACCESS — SUBJECT TO OWNER APPROVAL.
Then the second.
The four words missing.
Then the third.
Solid access road.
"Who removed 'subject to owner approval'?"
Cynthia looked at the maps.
"I don't know what versions those are."
"They came from the association archive."
"I would need to verify that."
Tom pointed at the dates.
"You approved the engineering contract between version one and version two."
"That proves nothing."
A woman in the second row stood.
"How much money has been spent?"
Cynthia looked toward the treasurer.
The treasurer looked down.
Tom answered.
"About eighty-four thousand dollars."
The room erupted.
"Eighty-four?"
"On land we don't own?"
"Did the board know?"
"Is that why our assessment increased?"
Cynthia struck the table.
"Order!"
Nobody listened.
"We followed proper approval procedures!"
A man shouted:
"For whose property?"
Another voice:
"Did we buy the land?"
"No!" someone answered.
Cynthia raised the microphone.
"The association has valid access rights."
I opened my laptop.
"Then this should be easy."
The projector screen behind her changed.
Her email appeared.
Huge letters:
TITLE HAS NOT YET BEEN TRANSFERRED.
The room went silent.
Cynthia stared at the screen.
Her face changed.
For the first time that afternoon, she looked genuinely unprepared.
I read the next line.
"However, once the old occupant is removed, access should no longer present an obstacle to the project schedule."
No one spoke.
Cynthia stood.
"That email is being taken out of context."
"Then give us the context."
"It refers to an entirely different title issue."
"Which one?"
"Our legal team was handling multiple matters."
"Name the parcel."
Silence.
I looked at the board.
"When Cynthia told residents I was a squatter, she already knew title had not transferred."
Cynthia pointed at me.
"That is false."
I looked at her.
"Is the email yours?"
"Yes, but—"
"Did you write it?"
"Yes."
"Was it about West Gate?"
"It concerned preliminary planning."
"Did Cedar Ridge have title?"
"Our attorneys believed—"
"Did Cedar Ridge have title?"
She stared at me.
"No formal transfer had been recorded at that time."
"Has one been recorded since?"
No answer.
A resident behind me said:
"That means no."
Cynthia snapped.
"This man is conducting a courtroom interrogation."
I shook my head.
"No."
I looked around.
"A courtroom has rules."
A few bitter laughs escaped.
Cynthia's eyes flashed.