“The current association jurisdiction.”
“When was this created?”
“Six months ago.”
I looked at her.
“My uncle died eight months ago.”
“That has no relevance.”
“It has relevance if you’re claiming he joined an HOA after he died.”
Victoria’s eyes flickered.
Only once.
Then she recovered.
“Your uncle signed underlying development covenants before his death.”
“Show me.”
“They are incorporated by reference.”
“Show me the document with his signature.”
“You’ll receive everything during formal enforcement.”
That was not an answer.
She handed me a violation notice.
Construction halt.
$2,500 in existing penalties.
Forty-eight hours to remove building materials.
Five hundred dollars per day after that.
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was shouting.
“You fined a dead man?”
“The penalties attach to the parcel.”
“Based on an HOA formed after he died.”
“Based on recorded obligations.”
“Which you won’t show me.”
Victoria closed her portfolio.
Then she looked at my truck.
My work clothes.
The tools.
The unfinished cabin.
The judgment arrived in her expression before she spoke.
“Let me be frank, Mr. Brennan.”
“Please.”
“This is not the sort of neighborhood where people in your situation usually thrive.”
I stopped smiling.
“My situation?”
She glanced at the structure.
“Pine Valley has expectations. Residents have invested substantially in quality and stability.”
“I’m building a permitted cabin.”
She ignored that.
“I would hate for ongoing conflict to create unpleasantness for your daughter.”
Every muscle in my shoulders tightened.
“What did you say?”
“We conduct background reviews when property transfers create compliance concerns.”
“You looked up my daughter?”
“Public information.”
“Are you threatening her?”
“I’m offering friendly advice.”
Her smile became sharper.
“Some battles aren’t worth fighting when you’re already outmatched.”
She returned to the BMW.
Before getting inside, she called over her shoulder:
“Forty-eight hours.”
I watched her taillights disappear.
Then I read the notice again.
Silas’s final words came back to me.
Don’t let anyone push you around.
The next morning Victoria returned.
This time, she brought a lawyer.
At least, he introduced himself as one.
Douglas Krenke drove an aging Honda Civic and wore a suit that fit like it belonged to somebody slightly shorter.
His tie had a coffee stain near the bottom.
His briefcase had a repaired handle.
None of that meant he was incompetent.
The way he avoided looking at me did.
“Mr. Brennan,” Victoria announced, “you are being formally served.”
Douglas handed me a packet.
I read the first page.
The HOA claimed $15,000 in retroactive penalties.
Then came a stranger allegation.
According to Douglas, my acquisition from Silas’s estate was supposedly defective because I had not received HOA disclosure documents during the transfer.
“So your position,” I said, “is that the title giving me this property is invalid because your six-month-old HOA failed to send me paperwork?”
Douglas shifted.
“Our position is that enforceable restrictions were not properly acknowledged.”
“Does the county recorder show me as owner?”
“That is not the entire issue.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Victoria interrupted.