“We’re sending someone tomorrow.”
“Rain’s Friday.”
“We saw the forecast.”
“Can I stabilize?”
“Not until we inspect.”
“That gives us forty-eight hours.”
“I know.”
“You have photos?”
“Hundreds.”
“Send them.”
I did.
Then drove to Cedar Ridge clubhouse.
Karen arrived around 2:15 with Tom and Diane Park.
Diane was treasurer.
Quiet.
Fifty-something.
CPA.
One of the few board members who did not seem to enjoy enforcement.
Karen got out carrying her clipboard.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I was standing in the parking lot.
“Public HOA meeting facility.”
“Private association property.”
“Then explain why I owe your association eleven thousand dollars.”
She stopped.
I almost enjoyed that.
Almost.
She pulled a manila envelope from her bag.
“Perfect timing.”
She held it out.
“Final accounting.”
I opened it.
The amount made even me blink.
$48,000.
DEMOLITION COST RECOVERY.
Added to the existing $11,400.
Total:
$59,400.
They were charging me for demolishing my own dam.
Karen watched my face.
“Thirty days.”
“After that, counsel begins lien enforcement.”
“You’re filing a lien against property that isn’t in the HOA.”
“Your parcel has been in delinquency for eighteen months.”
“No.”
“You mailed me bills for eighteen months.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
“It really isn’t.”
I clipped my phone to my shirt before leaving the truck.
Recording.
“Show me the declaration amendment annexing Parcel 7A.”
“The board reclassified it.”
“That isn’t annexation.”
“You are not our attorney.”
“Correct.”
“Show me the vote.”
“Meeting records are available through formal request.”
“I’m requesting them.”
“Submit it in writing.”
“To whom?”
“The secretary.”
“Who’s secretary?”
Karen paused.
“I am.”
Behind her, Diane looked down.
Tom folded his arms.
I said:
“Karen, did counsel review the annexation?”
“Of course.”
“What counsel?”
“That is privileged.”
“What document gave the board jurisdiction to authorize demolition on my deeded property?”
“You’re becoming argumentative.”
“I’m asking for authority.”
She turned toward the door.
“Conversation over.”
I stepped toward the entrance.
Tom moved in front of me.
Not touching.
Blocking.
“You’re not authorized inside.”
“I’m requesting public association records.”
“You’re not a member.”
I looked at him.
“That’s what I have been telling you.”
Diane’s mouth twitched.
Karen did not notice.
She unlocked the clubhouse.
Tom followed.
Diane paused at the door.
For half a second, our eyes met.
She looked embarrassed.
Then went inside.
The door closed.
I sat in my truck afterward with both hands on the steering wheel.
For one full minute, I did nothing.
People sometimes talk about remaining calm as if calm means you do not feel anger.
That is nonsense.
I was furious.
The dam had cost me $82,000 to build.
Years of design experience.
Months of permits.
Hundreds of hours.
More importantly, I had built it to keep water out of other people’s homes.
Now the people benefiting from it had destroyed it and billed me for demolition.
I wanted to walk back inside that clubhouse and explain hydrology to Karen until the walls understood.