We shook hands, and I got to work. That fence was my pride and joy. I covered all the materials and spent weekends building it. Grant and Candice were thrilled since they didn’t have to pitch in a dime.

It was a win-win. But about a year ago, my kind neighbors sold their house. Enter Patrice, a flashy new neighbor from the city. Before they left, Grant mentioned that Patrice was a realtor who’d flipped eight houses in twelve years!

She stood out from us locals, always in crisp blouses, skirts, and heels, with a sharp, judgmental glance. She bragged about loving her new home and planning to stay forever.

But six months after she moved in, I spotted a man with a clipboard wandering around the neighborhood and my backyard. He looked like a land surveyor, measuring and planting little flags in the ground.