Inside were printouts about adverse possession.
Squatters’ rights.
Highlighted sections. Notes in handwriting I recognized.
They weren’t just freeloading.
They were planning.
Planning to turn my generosity into ownership.
Planning to claim residency, establish “control,” and box me out of my own property.
I photographed every page.
Every note.
Every highlighted line.
Then I sat at my kitchen counter, poured a glass of water, and made two phone calls.
Not to scream.
Not to beg.
To execute.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
