He wrote a letter. A good letter, on letterhead, calm and precise, no threats, just facts. It said that a licensed survey showed the Carters’ balcony encroached four feet three inches onto my property, that the encroachment constituted a continuing trespass, that we were aware no building permit had been issued for the structure, and that we requested its removal within thirty days, failing which we would pursue all remedies available, including a court order and referral of the permit matter to the county. He sent it certified mail so somebody had to sign for it.
Second, I filed a complaint with the county building department about the unpermitted structure. I did not do that out of spite. I did it because it was true and because it was the right lever, and because I had watched that man treat the rules as things that applied to other people, and I have never in my life been able to stand that.
The county moved faster than I expected. Within a week an inspector went out and posted a stop-work and code violation notice on the Carters’ brand-new balcony, and issued them an order to either bring the structure into compliance, which was impossible because it violated the setback and hung over somebody else’s land, or remove it. The county does not care about your view. The county cares about whether the thing is going to fall on somebody and whether you followed the rules, and Travis had answered no to both.
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Now Travis had a certified letter from my lawyer in one hand and an official county violation notice in the other, and both of them said the same thing, which was the exact thing I had said to him on his porch while he chuckled at me. Move the balcony.
He came to the fence
He came to me, eventually. Of course he did. Men like Travis are all forward motion right up until they hit a wall, and then they turn around and try to sell you the wall.
He caught me in the backyard on a Saturday, leaning over the back fence again, but the energy was all different this time. No golf shirt swagger. No coffee cup. He looked like a man who had not slept.
“Hey,” he said. “Look. About the balcony. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I set down my rake. “Okay.”
“This whole thing has kind of blown up,” he said. “The county’s on me now. My lawyer says it’s gonna cost a fortune to fight it, and even if I win, I lose, you know?” He tried the grin. It did not fit his face anymore. “So what if I made it worth your while. What if we just, I don’t know, we work something out. I pay you a little something and the balcony stays. Easement, my guy called it. I buy an easement off you. Everybody’s happy.”
There it was. The last pitch. Even standing in the rubble of it, he was trying to close a deal, trying to buy the four feet of my sky he had already stolen, trying to turn his trespass into my paperwork. And I will tell you, for one second, I considered it. Not because I wanted his money. Because I am tired, and fights are long, and a check is easy.