I told her the notices had gone out in July and that David could provide copies to the appropriate parties. She was quiet for a few seconds. "They told us they didn't know anything until the docks started coming out of the water," she said.
I could hear voices behind her, probably more guests on the phone. "I've been telling people I can't explain it because the board hasn't explained it to me." I said I was sorry she had been placed in that position. I meant it.
On September 3, Garrett's lawyers filed their complaint seeking an injunction and $40 million in damages. The complaint accused me of malicious interference, deliberate destruction of an established business, and bad-faith reservoir operation. It described the drawdown as an attack on innocent owners and claimed the association's investment had been made in good faith under county permits. The lawyers attached photographs of unhappy guests, empty cabins, and grounded boats. What they did not attach was a deed showing Mountain Vista owned the land.
David spread the complaint across his conference table and tapped the missing information with one finger. "They've filed the story they wish were true," he said. "Now we answer with the one the records support." He prepared a response grounded in my title documents, the final survey, the association's prior notices, and the engineering records showing a supervised maintenance project. We also discussed a separate claim for trespass, unauthorized commercial use, restoration costs, and the removal of the structures.
The case was not as simple as standing in court and saying a building was on my land. Some cabins had been sold to individual buyers, and the HOA claimed varying rights under its management contracts. A judge would have to account for property interests, the status of the structures, potential reliance on recorded documents, and the practical problem of moving or dismantling a hundred and nine buildings. David said the strength of my ownership case was substantial, but that an order for removal would still require careful evidence and appropriate procedures. There would be no magic sentence that made every building disappear.
By September 12, approximately six weeks after the drawdown began, the lake had retreated to a fraction of its former size. The original channels ran through exposed sediment, leaving scattered pools in the deeper portions of the basin. In places the lakebed had dried into a cracked, pale crust; elsewhere it remained soft enough to swallow a boot. The crews had to keep certain areas fenced and marked because a visitor could easily mistake a dry-looking surface for safe ground. I instructed Luis to post additional warning signs on every access trail we controlled.
The sight was difficult even for me. The lake had been the center of my life, the view from our wedding anniversary dinners, the place where Emma learned to paddle a canoe and where my father scattered wildflower seeds after my mother died. Looking across the broad, exposed basin was like seeing the room of a loved one stripped of its furniture. I knew the water would return when the work was complete. That knowledge did not make the absence beautiful.