The court reporter kept typing without looking up. I understood why people called depositions exhausting. There were hours of questions about dates, emails, maps, earlier water levels, and what I had said to Martin on the telephone. I answered as carefully as I could and corrected myself when a memory was uncertain. David had warned me that pretending to remember everything perfectly was more dangerous than admitting I did not know. The truth did not require my memory to be flawless.
Garrett gave his own deposition two weeks later. I was not in the room, but David described portions of it afterward and handed me the transcript. Garrett insisted the HOA had relied on experts who believed the lake was public and that development near a water body of that size required no permission from a private owner. Asked to identify the expert who had concluded the shoreline was county property, he gave the name of a consultant whose actual memorandum recommended further verification. Asked whether he had contacted me before construction, he said no because he did not believe it was necessary.
One exchange stayed with me. David asked, "When you sold cabin interests to investors, did you know whether your association possessed a recorded deed to the ground beneath those cabins?" Garrett answered that the association had permits and long-standing community access. David repeated the question. Garrett said he relied on the project team. The transcript showed three variations of that answer before he finally admitted he could not identify a deed conveying the tract to Mountain Vista.
I wanted to feel triumphant when I read it. Instead I thought about Patricia Moreno opening her retirement statement and looking at the number she could no longer count on. Garrett's confidence had not merely irritated me. It had become a business model that transferred ownership risks to people who did not understand what they were buying. He had sold them the image of permanence while failing to verify the most basic thing a permanent investment needed: the right to occupy the ground.
Patricia called David's office in early November and asked whether I would speak with her again. I agreed to meet at a small diner outside town, where she arrived carrying the same folder I had seen in my driveway. She looked tired but steadier than before. A local attorney had reviewed her purchase agreement and told her there were serious questions about what the HOA had represented. Several other owners were organizing a coordinated claim, and they wanted the shoreline survey to support their case.
I had brought a copy of Elena's work and the corresponding recorded deed. Patricia spread them beside her coffee, carefully smoothing the corners as if the paper might tear. She told me she had bought the cabin because the sales agent promised a reliable income stream and showed her examples of ordinary families building wealth through vacation properties. The idea had appealed to her because she was tired of being afraid of retirement. Now she felt foolish for trusting people who had worn expensive suits and spoken confidently about legal guarantees.