Tammy Osgood that said, "This guy needs a hobby." a comment from Diane herself that said, "Boundaries are important, but so is community access." Which is the kind of sentence that sounds reasonable until you realize it was written by a woman who was literally destroying someone's boundaries with a cordless drill at 5 in the morning. I saved the post.
I saved every comment. I saved every laughing emoji. Jim Harrelson was going to love this. But Diane wasn't just posting. She was escalating.
Three days after my certified letters arrived, I got a call from a reporter at KEXTV in Lufkin. Her name was Amy Chen. She told me she'd received a tip from a viewer. She didn't say who, but I could guess about a farmer who was threatening his neighbors with dangerous road devices. She wanted to come out and do a story.
Come on out, I said. I'll show you everything. Amy interviewed Diane first. Diane gave a performance worthy of an Emmy. navy blazer she'd clearly bought for the occasion, dabbing her eyes, talking about community safety and a farmer terrorizing families. She used the phrase the children four times.
She said, "We just want to feel safe." While standing next to the monument of a subdivision committing organized trespassing daily, then Amy came to my place. I showed her the deed, the plat maps, the developer covenant, the trail camera footage, Diane stealing signs at 5:47 a.m. The boyfriend cutting locks at 11:47 p.m. The Escalade plowing through my soybeans. The certified letters with Diane's signature. Everything.
Amy's cameraman, Derek, lowered the camera halfway through and said, "This isn't the story she sold us." Meanwhile, emboldened by the interview she thought would paint me as the villain, Diane started driving faster. 45, sometimes 50 on a road posted at 15. She swerved into the hayfield, tearing up the drainage swale. Three mornings in a row.
Each time, cameras caught every second. That same week, her Instagram showed a sunset photo with the caption, "Trust the process. The universe rewards patience and persistence." She was right about that, just not the way she thought. She had no idea what was waiting for her.
It was a Tuesday morning, October 14th. The air was cool for East Texas, 58° at dawn, with a thin ground fog that hung in the creek bottom and made the hay fields look like they were floating on clouds. I've been up since 4:30, which is normal for me. I fed the cattle, checked the fence line that Diane's SUV had been tearing up, and walked the length of the farm road one final time. The signs were still standing.
All four of them. Massive, reflective, impossible to miss. The cameras were recording. All four of them. Green lights blinking in the pre-dawn darkness like patient mechanical witnesses.
At 6:00 a.m., I activated the tire deflation strips. I pulled four steel pins that locked the teeth flat. They rose to 45°, sharp enough to puncture any standard tire on contact at speeds above 15 mph. I poured a cup of coffee and sat on the front porch. Two vehicles came through from the south before 7 northbound toward Ridgewood.