I photographed the readings.
Evidence.
Everything became evidence now.
At 5:47, Trish returned.
She brought three people.
One was HOA attorney Bradley Shaw.Manage Rentals
One was board treasurer Linda Price.
The third was a young man carrying a camera.
Bradley walked directly toward the combine.
Ben stopped him.
“You need to stay outside the active equipment area.”
“My client has a lawful interest in this property.”
Ben nodded toward me.
“He says
she doesn’t.”
“We have an executed contract.”Consult Lawyers
“You have a photocopy.”
“A binding photocopy.”
“Maybe.”
Bradley looked irritated.
“Deputy, you’re not qualified to determine contract validity.”
“Correct.”
“So you need to prevent Mr. Mercer from destroying property subject to a commercial agreement until a court can review—”
Ben held up a hand.
“I’m definitely qualified to determine who owns the corn.”
Bradley glanced toward the field.
“Ownership is complicated by the recreational-use clause.”
“Not complicated for me.”
I had walked over by then.
Bradley looked at me.
“Mr. Mercer, I strongly advise you to stop harvesting until this dispute is resolved.”Source Farm Gear
“Are you my attorney?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll take advice from mine.”
As if on cue, Rachel’s silver SUV came up the lane.
She stepped out carrying a leather briefcase.
Five foot four.
Brown hair pinned behind her neck.
Gray suit.
The calmest woman I had ever met.
Rachel had
represented farms, ranches, grain companies, and rural families for twenty years.Farm tours
She could quote Missouri property statutes from memory.
More importantly, she loved documents.
Real ones.
She gave Bradley a polite smile.
“Good afternoon.”
He looked less pleased to see her.
“Rachel.”
“Bradley.”
That told me they knew each other.
She took the photocopied agreement.
Read the first page.
Second.
Third.
Then she laughed once.
Quietly.
Bradley frowned.
