My parents stood in the middle of Grandpa’s farm, told me they’d already sold the land to a developer, shoved “consent” papers at my chest, and sneered that I didn’t own a thing, but when I asked for the probate file number, my dad snapped, my mom smirked, and I drove straight to the county clerk instead

“My mother viewed the deposited will packet yesterday morning,” I said to the deputy, “and then signed an affidavit claiming there was no will. The county has the access log.”

Deputy Landry’s expression tightened slightly at the word affidavit.

He held out a hand toward my father.

“Do you have paperwork?”

My dad shoved his stack forward like a man presenting proof of manhood.

“Purchase contract. We already closed. She’s just mad.”

Deputy Landry flipped through the pages slowly.

Then he tapped one sheet.

“Where’s the recorded deed?”

My father’s mouth tightened.

“It’s in process.”

The deputy looked at me.

“Do you have the recorded notice?”

“Yes.”

I handed him the receipts. He read them. Then he stepped aside and spoke into his radio.

“Dispatch, can you run a records check on the parcel and confirm any recorded notices today? Instrument number is—”

He read it off.

While he waited, my mother leaned slightly toward me, her voice low.

“You think you’re so smart.”

I kept my eyes on the deputy and said nothing.

People like my mother hate silence when silence is backed by records.

The radio crackled.

“Parcel shows notice of pending action recorded this afternoon and probate-related notice. Title flagged for dispute.”

Deputy Landry looked back at my parents.

“Okay,” he said, voice firmer now. “This is a civil dispute with active filings. I’m not removing her for trespass tonight.”

My father flushed dark red.

“So she can just do whatever she wants?”

“No,” the deputy said. “Neither can you.”

He turned slightly toward my mother.

“Ma’am, you called in a trespass complaint, but the title is flagged. If you want this resolved, you resolve it in court.”

“She’s harassing us.”

“Then you request a protective order. You don’t weaponize a trespass call when ownership is in dispute.”

My father tried another angle.

“The survey crew is coming tomorrow. The sheriff will escort them.”

Deputy Landry’s eyes sharpened.

“No one is getting escorted onto disputed land based on a private contract. Not while there’s a recorded pending action.”

I held up my phone.

“Cedar Ridge counsel confirmed they will not proceed with entry or development until this is resolved.”

The deputy glanced at the email on my screen and nodded once.

“Good.”

Then he looked back at my parents.