Judge Stanton became a separate issue.
Peter filed a motion challenging portions of earlier rulings based on newly discovered evidence concerning the development representations and the nature of the impoundment.
By then, Oakhaven’s easement theory was collapsing.
The temporary recreational order was vacated.
The HOA could not persuasively argue for reliance on lake access while simultaneously suing the developer for misrepresenting that access.
The underlying case against me was eventually dismissed.
Not with a cinematic gavel slam.
With pages of legal reasoning.
Peter celebrated by opening a bottle of Scotch older than I was.
“I hate litigation.”
He said.
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Exactly.”
Arthur Pendleton’s problems continued.
The state enforcement case became expensive.
So did the owner lawsuits.
Banks financing parts of the development tightened control.
Sales stopped.
Several owners abandoned contracts before closing.
Pendleton Holdings tried restructuring.
Then selling portions of the project.
No buyer wanted the liability.
The HOA raised emergency assessments.
Residents revolted.
Margaret resigned as president after one meeting where three people reportedly shouted at her for forty minutes.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
One afternoon, several months later, Margaret came to my door.
No Mercedes.
She had parked near the road and walked.
She looked older.
Less constructed.
“I owe you an apology.”
She said.
I waited.
“I believed Arthur.”
“About the lake.”
“About access.”
“About you.”
I nodded.
She continued.
“I thought you were a stubborn young man trying to punish a community because you didn’t like change.”
“I was stubborn.”
“Yes.”
A tiny smile.
“But not wrong.”
“No.”
She looked toward the reservoir.
“We spent so much money.”
“I know.”
“You understand some of those owners had no idea?”
“I do.”
That was important.
I had spent months thinking of Oakhaven residents as one entitled mass.
They were not.
Some had trespassed.
Some had cut fences.
Some had screamed about property values.
Others had simply bought homes after being told lake access was lawful.
One retired couple lost most of their savings in the development.
A teacher from New Jersey owned one small cabin as a retirement dream.
A widow had purchased hers after her husband died because she wanted somewhere near water.
Arthur’s fraud, if proven, hurt them too.
“I was cruel to you.”
Margaret said.
“Yes.”
She accepted that.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her for a long time.
Then nodded.
“Thank you.”
She left.
That did not make us friends.
It made the story less simple.
The following year, the lender holding the largest development loan foreclosed on major portions of Oakhaven’s common property and several unsold units.
The occupied homes became more complicated.
Some owners remained.
Some settled claims.
Some left.
The most damaged cabins were condemned until repaired or demolished.
Eventually a court-appointed receiver managed portions of the failed development.
That was when Peter called.
“There’s an opportunity.”
I knew the tone.