Wesley pulled out his phone and called me while standing ten feet from the guard. “Tell him to open the gate.” I watched through the camera as relatives gathered behind him with coolers, suitcases, folding chairs, and Gwendolyn strapped absurdly to his truck. “No,” I said. “I told everyone three weeks ago this property wasn’t available.” He started arguing that people had driven for hours. I reminded him that every one of them had received my message before making the trip.
Mom tried next. Then Dad. Then Aunt Rosalind. Nobody was admitted. Security remained calm, documented the vehicles, and told everyone they needed to keep the driveway and roadway clear. Eventually, the coolers went back into trunks and the camper turned around. Wesley found a campground twenty minutes away with enough space for most of the group, and the reunion happened there instead.
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