Seven days after my closing, I woke up before dawn and found a voicemail from Susan. Laura had come into the association office late the previous evening, demanded every acquisition statement, and asked whether Caldwell had the right to sell the company without her approval. Susan had answered that the HOA held no binding exclusivity agreement and had not closed the transaction. Laura told her not to discuss the change with residents until the board decided how to respond. Susan left that instruction in writing in the minutes of their conversation.
"She knows," I told Rachel when I called. Rachel asked whether we had documentation that Laura had been informed before issuing new warnings. We had the letter to counsel, the transmission receipt, Susan's contemporaneous notes, and a message from Mark's attorney confirming notice to the prospective buyer. Rachel said the evidence did not establish Laura's state of mind beyond doubt, but it made a claim of innocent ignorance harder to maintain. She asked me not to meet Laura alone if I could avoid it.
I stepped onto the porch with a mug of coffee and looked toward the lower pasture. Through the cottonwoods I could see a white vehicle near the lake gate, then another. I picked up binoculars. Two HOA security men were standing beside the chain, and one was examining the lock. A third person had set out more orange survey stakes along the roadside. I set down my coffee and called Pete, asking him to stay clear of the gate and keep a camera on the road from the barn.
My phone rang again before I reached the pickup. Laura's name appeared on the screen. I answered and heard her begin speaking before I could say hello. "You've created a serious legal problem for yourself," she said.
I asked whether she meant buying a company that was available for sale. She accused me of interfering with an association acquisition and called the transaction hostile. I told her a proposal without a binding purchase agreement did not give Silver Pine ownership.
"Our attorney is challenging it," she said. I answered that a legal challenge did not make her the buyer. Her voice sharpened, and she told me to remove my obstruction from the western corridor immediately. When I said I would not surrender my gate, she warned that law enforcement would determine who belonged there. The call ended, and I looked back through the binoculars. One security man was pulling the chain from the latch.
At 6:07 I drove down to the southern gate. The chain lay in the gravel, unbroken but removed, and an HOA security SUV blocked part of the road. One man stood awkwardly beside the post while another hammered an orange stake into the dirt several yards inside Dawson Shore Reserve. Beyond them Laura was directing a maintenance truck toward the marina. I parked where I could see everyone and stepped out without raising my voice.
"Stop the work," I said. The man with the hammer looked toward Laura before lowering it. She walked over in a pale jacket, dark trousers, and boots that looked expensive enough to be uncomfortable on gravel. "You no longer have authority to interfere with this corridor," she said. I told her she was standing on my family's recorded property and that her security employee had just removed my chain. She waved away the distinction as though ownership were a minor administrative issue.