Story code: ST-000183
Part 3: Forty-Two Inches
The heavy DeWalt saw vibrated violently in Leo’s hands, the carbide teeth biting a fraction of an inch into the rim joist. The acrid smell of burning Ipe wood stung his nostrils.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Vance screamed, stepping forward, his arms flailing. “I said cut the posts, not the deck frame!”
Leo released the trigger. The saw’s motor whined to a halt, leaving only the sound of the rising wind and the distant roll of thunder. He stared at the jagged gash he had just chewed into the structural timber. Destroying the deck wouldn’t fix his house. Dropping the cantilever into the ocean wouldn’t pump the contaminated water out of his basement. It would just give Vance an insurance claim.
Leo yanked the blade out of the joist. He dropped the heavy saw onto the deck, the rubber casing bouncing once against the expensive teak.
“Have you lost your mind?” Vance demanded, pointing a trembling finger at the fresh gouge. “Look at what you just did to the decking! That’s imported wood! I am docking that from your pay.”
Leo didn’t answer. He turned away from the edge and walked back to his stacked tool cases. His chest heaved, his damp flannel shirt clinging to his skin as the first cold drops of rain began to fall from the bruised sky. He desperately needed the money. He needed the ten-thousand-dollar final check to pay for the mold remediation, the new furnace, and the drywall. Vance knew he needed it. That was the leverage the millionaire had been leaning on all morning.
Leo opened his primary toolbox. He bypassed the reciprocating saw blades and the measuring tape. He reached into the bottom compartment and pulled out a heavy cardboard box of ten-inch, heavy-duty galvanized lag screws. These weren’t finishing fasteners. They were massive, industrial-grade bolts with thick hexagonal heads, designed to permanently bind structural beams. Once driven into a dense hardwood like Ipe, the sheer friction locked them in place forever. Trying to back them out would strip the threads or snap the steel heads right off.
Leo grabbed his twenty-volt impact driver and locked a heavy socket attachment into the chuck.
“I’m talking to you!” Vance shouted over a fresh crack of thunder. “You are done here. Pack up your garbage. You’re not getting a dime of that ten-thousand-dollar final check. I’ll hire someone else to cut these posts down to thirty inches!”
Leo stepped up to the nearest intact forty-two-inch post. He didn’t measure. He didn’t mark a line. He just raised the impact driver, pressed the tip of a ten-inch lag screw directly into the center of the pristine teak post, right at eye level, and squeezed the trigger.
The impact driver erupted in a deafening, rapid-fire mechanical clatter: *Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!*
The massive screw chewed into the ironwood, tearing through the fine grain. Splinters of expensive Brazilian teak shot out sideways as the thick steel shank buried itself deep into the post, driving straight through and biting permanently into the ledger board behind it. Leo leaned his entire body weight into the drill, sinking the ugly, industrial hex head deep into the wood, completely mangling the clean, polished aesthetic of the luxury railing.
“Stop!” Vance yelled, his face flushing crimson. “What are you doing? You’re ruining the sightlines!”
Leo ignored him. He moved to the next post, lined up another lag screw, and hit the trigger. *Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!* The steel sank deep. The post was now an immovable monolith. To get it down to thirty inches now, a new contractor wouldn’t just have to cut it; they’d have to destroy the entire structural fascia of the cantilever to remove the embedded steel.
“I am calling the police!” Vance yelled, pulling his phone from his pocket, though he fumbled it as the rain began to slick the screen. “You are vandalizing my property!”
Leo stepped to the third post. He loaded another lag screw. *Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!* The noise echoed off the cliffside, harsh and violent against the howling wind.
He moved rapidly down the line, systematically anchoring every single forty-two-inch post at its maximum height. He drove multiple lag screws into each upright, ensuring they could never be uninstalled, lowered, or modified without ripping the deck apart with heavy machinery. By the time he reached the final post, his forearms were burning, and the driving rain was soaking completely through his clothes.
Vance stood back, shielded by the roof overhang, staring at his ruined patio. The row of posts stood tall, scarred with deep, splintered holes and ugly silver bolt heads, completely obstructing the million-dollar view of the ocean.
“You just threw away ten thousand dollars,” Vance seethed, his voice trembling with rage as he gestured wildly at the barrier. “You threw away your business. For what? A temper tantrum?”
Leo lowered the impact driver. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead. He looked at the forty-two-inch posts, then turned his gaze down the mountain, toward the valley that was currently filling with water.
“Crestview Drive,” Leo said. His voice was remarkably calm, cutting through the drumming sound of the rain.
Vance stopped wiping his phone screen. His hand froze.
“My house is at 442 Crestview Drive,” Leo continued, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the homeowner. “Down in the basin. Right where the municipal storm drains back up.”
Vance’s eyes flicked from Leo’s face down to the massive retaining wall at the edge of the property, then back again. The color began to drain from his cheeks.
“I heard your phone call with Mark,” Leo said, his grip tightening on the rubberized handle of the impact driver. “I know about the bypass. I know you dumped thousands of gallons of mountain watershed into a residential sewer line just to save your landscaping.”
Vance opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His aggressive, entitled posture collapsed, replaced by a rigid, terrified stillness. The rain lashed furiously against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite behind him.
Leo lifted the impact driver and pointed the heavy metal socket at the top of the nearest lag-screwed post.
“You wanted thirty inches for your view,” Leo said, his voice dropping into a flat, hollow register. “But these posts are exactly forty-two inches high. They are bolted directly into the structural ledger with permanent steel. You can’t take them down without dropping this entire deck into the ocean.”
Vance stared at the ugly, heavy-duty screws protruding from the mangled teak, realization dawning in his wide, panicking eyes.
“Forty-two inches,” Leo said, stepping right into Vance’s space, close enough to see the rainwater dripping off the millionaire’s expensive sweater. “That is exactly how high the black water reached in my living room three weeks ago. And it’s exactly how high it’s going to get tonight.”
Leo dropped the impact driver onto the soaked deck boards. He turned his back on the ruined, permanent barricade, leaving Vance standing silently in the freezing rain, trapped behind the exact measurement of the devastation he had caused.