We shared coffee while reviewing Betty's findings, the steam rising between us like visible proof of Margaret's evaporating case.
Margaret hired a second attorney Monday afternoon for a legal opinion supporting lake-access restrictions. The attorney wrote a beautiful letter based entirely on Margaret's version of the facts.
The opinion was legally worthless because it assumed the HOA owned the lake. Margaret waved it around like a papal decree anyway.
Anonymous support arrived in my mailbox Tuesday morning, copies of Margaret's private emails showing coordination with other HOA leaders to eliminate problem residents through financial pressure techniques and social-isolation strategies.
Someone in her inner circle was having serious second thoughts and wanted me armed with evidence of systematic harassment.
Margaret's media-manipulation attempt backfired spectacularly. She contacted the local newspaper claiming a lake-safety crisis and provided photos of my unauthorized fishing equipment.
The reporter fact-checked her claims and discovered Margaret's background was corporate compliance, not environmental science. The follow-up questions made Margaret defensive enough that she accidentally revealed her real motivation.
"People like him lower property values," she said.
That quote would haunt her.
I spent Tuesday afternoon installing official boundary markers at my property line, legally required before any confrontation about trespassing. The solid thunk of stakes being driven into the earth sounded like drumbeats announcing an approaching reckoning.
My discreet security cameras captured Margaret's face when she saw the survey markers. Pure panic crossed her features before she regained composure and called Dale for an emergency meeting.
The community polarized rapidly. Longtime locals quietly aligned with me while Margaret's support crumbled as her tactics became more extreme.
Several HOA members privately contacted me expressing concern about her methods. The nervous shuffling of papers as former allies distanced themselves sounded like rats abandoning a sinking ship.
Margaret's point of no return came Tuesday evening. She announced plans to have me arrested at the county meeting for criminal trespassing, coordinated with a private security company for citizen's-arrest backup if law enforcement refused to act, and confirmed her celebration venue booking and photographer for HOA victory documentation.
Her exact words to her remaining supporters were, "After tomorrow night, we'll never have to deal with his type again."
I spent that final evening on my porch, listening to loons call across the water and reviewing my evidence one last time.
Margaret was about to learn that some fishing holes bite back harder than she ever imagined.
Wednesday morning arrived with perfect irony. I followed my normal routine, casting my line into the dawn mist at the exact spot Margaret claimed as HOA waters.
The lake was glass-smooth, reflecting pink and orange sunrise colors like a postcard from a world where bullies did not exist. Margaret watched from her window with binoculars, phone already pressed to her ear.