himself deemed appropriate."
The judge was an older woman with no patience for wealthy bullies. She looked at the survey, looked at
the demolition notice, and looked at Richard Vance, who was sweating through his tailored suit.
"Mr. Vance," the judge said, her voice echoing in the quiet courtroom. "Property rights are the foundation
of this nation's legal system. You cannot build a castle on another man's land, no matter how much money you
have. And you certainly cannot destroy his property under the false assumption of jurisdiction."
She slammed her gavel. "The court rules in favor of the plaintiff. The defendant is ordered to remove all
encroaching structures from the plaintiff's property within sixty days, at his own expense. Furthermore, the
defendant is ordered to pay full restitution for the destruction of the historic barn, including punitive
damages."
Vance collapsed back into his chair, his head in his hands. It was the complete, utter destruction of his ego,
his wealth, and his pristine kingdom.
Fifty-eight days later, I sat on the hood of my grandfather's newly repaired tractor, a steaming cup of
coffee in my hand. The morning air was crisp, much like the day I had returned from Chicago to find my barn
destroyed. But today, the view was entirely different.