The stated purpose, community legal defense fund to protect Pecan Hollow Estates from homeowners whose non-compliance threatens property values and community standards. I did the math before finishing the first paragraph.
$1,200 multiplied by 127 equals $152,400. She was raising over 150 grand of other people's money to sue one man over a generator the county had already approved.
Somewhere in a law school textbook, there's a chapter on exactly this kind of behavior. It's filed under racketeering.
The same day, a second letter arrived addressed only to me. Tammy's signature, formal tone, accumulated fines, $8,400.
The board intended to file a lien on my property within 30 days. The letter helpfully reminded me that unpaid liens could result in foreclosure proceedings.
I'd heard this story before, from Garrett, about the Winstons. Fine them, lien them, foreclose, buy the house through a relative at a discount.
Tammy had built a machine for extracting families from their homes, and she'd been running it for nine years on people who didn't have the resources or the knowledge to push back. I showed the letter to Garrett that evening.
He read it the way judges read things, slowly, absorbing the weight of each word.
"She did the same thing to the Winstons. Lien, then foreclosure auction."
"Her husband's cousin bought the house for 60% of market. They were a young couple with a new baby."
"They didn't know they could fight it."
"She won't do it to me," I said. "No," Garrett agreed, folding the letter and handing it back.
"She won't." Over the next 2 weeks, Tammy went door to door.
Three neighbors told me about it independently. Her pitch never varied.
Part concern, part fear, part quiet coercion.
"If we don't act now, property values will tank. Do you really want to live next to a man who thinks he's above the rules?"
She framed herself as a protector. She made me the threat.
Some people bought it. A few started avoiding me at the mailbox cluster.
The Hendersons, three doors down, stopped waving. Lily noticed.
Kids always do. She came home one afternoon and told me her friend Maya, the Hendersons' daughter, said her parents told her to stay away from our house for a while.
"Dad, did we do something wrong?" I sat her down at the kitchen table.
"Some people use rules to help their neighbors. Other people use rules to hurt them."
"We didn't do anything wrong, and I'm going to prove it."
While Tammy was working the phones, Nina Solis was working hers. She called Tammy on a Tuesday evening, a planned conversation about the special assessment, with her phone recording the entire thing.