At 8:49, I called the contractor who had installed the ramp.
He arrived before ten with two workers and a sheet of thick plywood.
They could not rebuild immediately because several brackets had been damaged, but they created a temporary path so Emma could enter the house safely.
Jason stood in his driveway watching.
He told the contractor not to step on his property.
The contractor looked down at the survey marker near the fence and said, “We are not on your property.”
Jason laughed.
It was not a happy sound.
It was the sound of a man who believed repetition could become proof.
The city inspector arrived shortly after noon.
He wore a plain work jacket and carried a measuring wheel, a folding ruler, a can of marking paint, and a tablet.
He asked me to explain what happened.
I gave him the short version.
Then I gave him the documents.
Jason crossed the driveway before the inspector had finished reading the first page.
“This is a private dispute,” he said.
The inspector asked whether Jason had removed the ramp.
Jason said he had removed boards that crossed onto his property.
The inspector asked for his survey.
Jason said the line was obvious.
The inspector asked for the permit for the garage.
Jason pulled up a contractor invoice on his phone.
The inspector looked at it for less than a second.
“That is not a permit,” he said.
The whole yard went still.
A delivery van rolled past at the corner.
