The cedar fence is eight feet inside my yard.”

Tyler did not reach for the paper.

He took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes tracking the row of orange flags fluttering in the breeze.

“Carl is using equipment from the seventies, Joan,” Tyler said, a small laugh escaping his nose.

“My guys used a modern digital layout.

A satellite does not lie.”

“The county iron pins do not move,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected.

“The fence has to be moved back to the actual line.”