Cracked Houses

KB had commissioned a soil report for the development, as required by the state of Arizona. But, the Wilsons' engineer concluded, the company failed to follow the report's recommendations.

The soil report, after all, warned the builders in no uncertain terms: The soil condition "is believed to constitute a serious problem due to extreme settlement potential upon increased moisture content."

In other words: If the soil got wet, it would collapse. In order to build, KB would have to compress the soil, and then keep water from it after construction.

The engineering report, in fact, specifically recommended that before construction, KB needed to compact the soil to 90 percent. And it needed to do so for three solid feet. That way, the foundation -- which sits about a foot and a half deep -- would rest on solid ground, not silty sand that was ready to collapse at the slightest sprinkling.

But that's not what happened.

When engineers hired by the Wilsons ran tests, they found good evidence that the builders had compressed only two feet. And they'd only compacted to 72 percent, not 90, in some areas, according to their report.

Cutting those corners probably saved KB no more than $800 per lot, says Scott Warga, the chief forensic consultant at Phoenix-based National BuildMasters, who frequently does technical work for Wilson's lawyer.

But if you multiply that savings by the hundreds of homes in the development, it adds up to some serious cash.

Unfortunately, it also left Shari Wilson's foundation resting on only six inches of solid soil, and even that soil wasn't fully compacted. A little water would be fatal.

But KB hardly took care to keep the foundation dry.

For example: Building codes require that land slope away from the foundation at a minimum grade of 2 percent.

The builders hadn't done that, either, according to the Wilsons' engineer's report.

So the water didn't drain away from the house.

The soil below the foundation wasn't properly compacted.

The Wilsons' engineers came to a horrifying conclusion:

"[W]e anticipate an additional collapse of the site soils, which is expected to cause further damage to the structure, unless immediate measures are taken."

(KB's lawyers did not return calls for comment. In court filings, the company denies the Wilsons' claims, arguing that it has made "a good-faith attempt . . . to rectify any and/or all alleged construction defects and damages.")

The Wilsons' engineers completed their report a year and a half ago. Because KB didn't cough up the money to fix the house, Shari Wilson says, they've been fighting KB in court ever since.

It's been two steps back for every step forward. Just when KB seemed to be acknowledging the house's problems, Wilson says, its lawyers announced a new strategy: The company would be blaming them on its subcontractors.

It's a pretty common step in construction-defect cases -- but it's a slap in the face to a homeowner who's already been fighting her builder for two years.

"I never hired any of these people," Shari Wilson says. "I hired KB to build me a house. And it's not my responsibility to worry about the people they've hired!"

Even worse: The strategy is sure to slow the case down. A dozen subcontractors will now have to hire lawyers, file responses, and spend hours studying the evidence that's already been in litigation for months.

Wilson had thought Eckley was being dramatic when he talked about couples divorcing.

Then it happened to her. The Wilsons filed for divorce last winter.

"And now I'm stuck in this house as a single mom," Shari Wilson says. "And they still won't fix it."

The USDA keeps a highly detailed database of every type of soil in Arizona. It's not meant for amateurs, but if experienced researchers download the data and type in any given address, it explains what soils are there and what their composition is.

Questions about expansive soils have become so common that the USDA keeps special maps online for both Greater Phoenix and Greater Tucson, color-coded to show the level of soil expansiveness. Much of Phoenix itself is green: low expansion, okay to build. Tempe, too, looks good.

It's mostly in areas of newer growth -- places like, say, Anthem -- where the map turns blood red, which indicates highly expansive soil.

"The soil is so expansive in some of these places, it's like rocket fuel," says Warga, the National BuildMasters consultant. "You just water it a little and watch the house blast off."

Construction-defect attorneys believe there's good reason that places like Anthem, and Gilbert, weren't developed for so long.

"Until recently, the builders didn't really work in the real hot spots," says attorney Dicks. "They did hit areas. But when the building boom happened, they just built like crazy and threw caution to the wind."