“Say it again,” I told Jason.
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“You heard me.”
“I want the city to hear you.”
I recorded the ramp sections in the grass.
I recorded the boards against the front door.
I recorded the exposed screw holes, the bent brackets, the muddy tracks, and the pry bar in his hand.
At 8:17 a.m., I took the first still photograph.
At 8:26, I opened the blue folder and scanned the approved accessibility permit.
At 8:41, I emailed the permit, final inspection sheet, survey, and video to the city building department.
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.
