My Landlord Tried Evicting Me After My Parents Died — Then My Late Father's Dog Uncovered a Metal Box in the Yard That Exposed a 30-Year Secret
The DA’s formal inquiry notices must have landed on Frank Gable’s desk like a swarm of angry wasps. He didn’t take it well.
I was in the backyard, trying to fill Duke’s water bowl from a plastic jug, when Frank’s beat-up sedan screeched to a halt in the driveway. He wasn’t alone. Two burly men, dressed in stained work clothes, climbed out of a pickup truck behind him.
Frank’s face was red, his eyes bulging with rage. “That’s it, Lin! You want to play legal games? Fine! This is my property, and I’m taking it back!”
He pointed at the two workers. “Put up the fence! Right through the middle of the yard! And that mangy mutt,” he snarled, glaring at Duke, “is an unlicensed nuisance. Impound him!”
My blood ran cold. Duke, my loyal, aging Duke, was curled up near the persimmon tree, his ears perked up in confusion.
“You can’t do that!” I shouted, stepping forward onto the porch, a copy of the property survey orders clutched in my hand. “This is still under investigation! There’s a temporary restraining order against you!”
The two workers hesitated, looking from Frank to me. Frank ignored them.
“This is private property!” Frank yelled, advancing towards the fence line. “I’m within my rights! Get that fence up now!”
One of the workers started unrolling a length of rusty chain-link fence. The other moved towards Duke, a catching pole in his hand.
“Don’t touch my dog!” I yelled, stepping off the porch, placing myself between Duke and the man. My heart was pounding, but I stood my ground, holding up the property survey orders like a shield. “You step on this property, you’ll be trespassing! And assaulting an animal!”
Just then, the wail of sirens cut through the air. Two San Gabriel Police cruisers sped down the street, lights flashing, pulling up sharply behind Frank’s car.
Detective Brody had clearly anticipated Frank’s escalation.
Two patrol officers, tall and uniformed, exited their vehicles. One of them, a woman with a stern expression, approached Frank directly.
“Mr. Gable, we have a temporary restraining order in place,” she stated, her voice calm and authoritative. “Any attempt to alter this property or harass its occupant will be considered a violation. You are to cease and desist immediately.”
Frank sputtered, his face purpling. “This is my land! This woman is a squatter! She’s got no right!”
“Your claims are currently under review by the District Attorney’s office,” the officer replied, cutting him off. “For now, the property boundaries remain as per the original 1970 deed. You need to withdraw.”
Frank glared at me, his eyes burning with impotent fury. He knew he was beaten, at least for now. With a frustrated grunt, he waved off his workers.
“Fine!” he roared. “But this isn’t over, Lin! Not by a long shot!”
He stormed back to his car, slamming the door. His workers, looking relieved, packed up their tools. As Frank drove away, he screeched past my house, deliberately kicking up a cloud of dust.
The police officers confirmed the restraining order and told me they would maintain increased patrols. They advised me to keep my appointment with Frank, as planned, in his office.
The physical barricade had been broken, but the psychological warfare continued. The final confrontation was looming.
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