“I know.”
That surprised her.
“You do?”
“I get your letters.”
Marissa gave a small laugh.
“Then I suppose we’ve been introduced indirectly.”
“What can I do for you?”
She opened the folder.
Inside was an aerial rendering.
The Blackridge subdivision appeared in soft green.
Arden Square was drawn to the southwest.
Between them was a clean gray road.
Wade looked at it.
The road crossed his land.
Not near it.
Across it.
Straight through the part of his yard where specialty trailers, two fuel service trucks and customer restoration vehicles were normally stored.
Marissa tapped the rendering.
“We’re exploring a limited access corridor.”
“You’re exploring my yard.”
“Only a narrow strip.”
“How narrow?”
“Approximately sixty feet including setbacks.”
Wade looked at her.
“That takes out the east fence, storage row and half my turning radius.”
“We would compensate you.”
“No.”
Marissa blinked.
“I haven’t told you the number.”
“You don’t need to.”
“You should at least hear it.”
“I use the land.”
“It’s mostly vehicle storage.”
“Correct.”
“You could relocate that.”
“Where?”
She smiled as if that were his problem.
“We’re prepared to make a generous offer.”
“No.”
Marissa closed the folder halfway.
“Mr. Hollister—”
“Wade.”
“Wade. The corridor would benefit hundreds of families.”
“Probably.”
“And increase surrounding property values.”
“Probably.”
“That includes yours.”
“My business doesn’t make money because my dirt appraises higher.”
Her smile thinned.
“We’re talking about substantial compensation.”
“I’m talking about not selling.”
Silence.
Marissa eventually nodded.
“Think about it.”
“I already did.”
She left.
Two weeks later, an offer arrived.
$220,000.
Wade declined.
A month later:
$350,000.
Declined.
Then $500,000 plus relocation assistance for part of the yard.
Wade showed the offer to his longtime attorney, Rebecca Sloan.
Rebecca was forty-eight, practical and almost pathologically unimpressed by dramatic language.
She read the packet.
“Good money.”
“I’m not selling.”
“Then why are you showing me?”
“Because they keep asking.”
Rebecca looked at the map.
“What’s this development worth once it has access?”
“A lot more than five hundred.”
“Thought so.”
She handed it back.
“Keep every letter.”
The first HOA violation notice arrived eight days later.
IMPROPER COMMERCIAL SIGNAGE VISIBLE FROM ASSOCIATION PROPERTY.
Wade laughed when he opened it.
The sign stood on Wade’s own frontage beside the county road.
HOLLISTER FLEET & RECOVERY.
Same sign had been there nine years.
He replied with the county plat.
Blackridge HOA boundaries ended before his parcel.
Two weeks later:
EXCESSIVE EXTERIOR LIGHTING.
Another plat.
Then:
NOISE VIOLATION.
Then:
UNSCREENED COMMERCIAL VEHICLE STORAGE.
Then:
FENCE NONCOMPLIANCE.
Wade began a file.
Rebecca called it the Marissa Box.
“Do not argue by phone,” she told him.
“I know.”
“Do not go to a board meeting angry.”
“I know.”
“Do not write sarcasm.”
Wade looked offended.
“I don’t write sarcasm.”
Rebecca held up one of his draft letters.
It said:
PLEASE IDENTIFY WHICH MAGICAL SECTION OF YOUR BYLAWS EXTENDS ACROSS A COUNTY PROPERTY LINE.