“Harry Caldwell knows about this four-foot strip,” I said.

“Of course he knows,” Nora said quietly.

“That’s why Trent keeps parking his heavy squat rack and gym equipment right along your grass.”

“He’s trying to physically take over the four-foot easement strip before any official survey settles it,” I said.

“A paper trail beats loud voices, David,” Nora said.

She turned the heavy parchment toward me so I could read the notarized legal description.

The original lot measurements were laid out in crisp black typewriter print from forty years ago.