Marisol asked whether I would accept the cabins remaining if the association paid rent. I considered the question before answering. For years, I had kept the shore undeveloped because it protected the basin, the wildlife habitat, and the character of the property. I did not want to become the landlord of a resort that had been built by ignoring those priorities. More importantly, a lease imposed after construction would reward the exact behavior that had caused the problem. I told her the cabins had to go.
"I know that sounds harsh," I added. "But I don't want a business arrangement that begins with somebody telling me I have no right to say no." Marisol nodded slowly. She asked whether there was any way to reduce the damage to the innocent investors. I told her I would cooperate with reasonable efforts to preserve documents and identify the people who had made the false ownership representations. I could not finance their losses by surrendering my land, but I would not stand in the way of their claims against those responsible.
Garrett resigned as HOA president on December 18. The announcement used the language of a man stepping aside for the good of the community, but nobody missed the timing. Six days earlier the association had failed to persuade me to accept a long-term lease, and Garrett was facing questions from investors and his own board. By the time he resigned, the resort management operation had no viable revenue and the association's legal bills were mounting faster than its assessments could cover them. His departure changed the people sitting at the negotiating table, not the obligations already imposed by the court.
On December 22, Mountain Vista entered Chapter 11 bankruptcy proceedings to reorganize its affairs while trying to preserve the ordinary community services residents depended on. That complicated everything. The judgment in my favor remained important, but collecting money and enforcing property-related obligations required coordination with the bankruptcy process and its rules. David spent the holiday week on telephone conferences with restructuring counsel and the other creditors' representatives. I spent it at the cabin, looking out at an empty reservoir while snow gathered in the sheltered folds of the exposed lakebed.
Christmas had always been a family holiday for us. After Helen died, Emma and I kept a few traditions alive even when we could not be together. She called that year with the baby on her lap, wearing the tiny green sweater I had mailed him. Behind her, a string of lights framed the window. She told me my grandson had learned to clap whenever somebody said his grandfather's name. I let her believe that for a moment before admitting he probably clapped for everybody.
Emma asked whether the court decision meant I could finally bring the water back. I explained the removal order and the practical difficulty of dismantling more than a hundred occupied or recently occupied buildings. She listened, then said that she hoped I would still recognize the lake when everything was finished. I told her the absence had taught me how much I loved it. "Then remember that when the money starts talking," she said. She had inherited Helen's gift for cutting through the unnecessary parts of a problem.