Mr. Carter, the fence was built entirely by the plaintiff, on his property, at his expense. You had no legal right to remove it.”
“Your honor, it was blocking our view—”
“That’s not a legal justification for destruction of property.”
The judge ruled in my favor. Awarded me $6,800 for materials and labor to rebuild.
Ethan had thirty days to pay.
He didn’t pay.
Day thirty-one, I filed for a collections order.
Day forty-five, the sheriff placed a lien on Ethan’s property.
Day sixty, Ethan’s lawyer contacted me with a settlement offer: $5,000 cash to release the lien.
I countered: $6,800 plus an additional $2,000 for court costs and my time. And a written agreement that he’d never touch my property again.
He agreed.
With the money, I didn’t rebuild the wooden fence.
I built something better.
I hired a contractor. A professional. Someone who specialized in permanent boundary structures.
We installed a steel fence. Six feet high. Powder-coated black. Set in reinforced concrete footings every six feet.
Not decorative. Industrial. The kind of fence you see around commercial properties.
It cost $12,000. More than Ethan paid me. But I didn’t care.
I wanted Ethan to look at that fence every single day and know he’d caused it.
The contractor finished in three days.
The fence was perfect. Solid. Permanent. Imposing.
Ethan came to my door the day after it was installed.
“That fence is ugly.”
“It’s legal. On my property line. You have no say in it.”
“It ruins the aesthetic of the neighborhood.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you tore down the last one.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re being petty.”
“I’m protecting my property. Something I shouldn’t have to do from my neighbor.”
Ethan tried to fight it. Filed a complaint with the county.
The county inspected. Found the fence was legal, properly permitted, and within all setback requirements.
Complaint dismissed.
He tried to organize the neighbors. Get them to pressure me to remove it.
Nobody cared. Most of them thought he was an idiot for tearing down the original fence.
He even tried to get an HOA started. To create rules against “industrial-style fencing.”
There was no HOA. Never had been. And nobody wanted one.
Six months after the steel fence went up, Ethan and Mara put their house on the market.
They’d lived there less than two years.
