“She requested enforcement.”
“I understand.”
“Can I see your fishing license?”
I handed it to him.
He checked it.
Valid.
Then:
“Is this your land?”
“Yes.”
“Documents?”
I had started carrying copies in a sealed bag inside my tackle box after the first lien threat.
I handed him the deed.
He read.
Stopped at the lake language.
Then opened the plat.
His finger traced the boundaries.
He looked at the dock.
At the opposite shoreline.
At the paper.
“This entire water body is within your parcel?”
“Yes.”
“Any conveyance?”
“County says none.”
Gail interrupted from the ramp.
“That deed is from 1972.”
Garrett turned.
“The age of a deed doesn’t automatically invalidate it.”
“The developer transferred the lake.”
“Do you have that conveyance?”
“It’s in association records.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“No.”
“Recorded document number?”
“I don’t memorize filing numbers.”
Garrett nodded.
Fair enough.
Then he radioed dispatch.
He read the parcel number.
Asked for current ownership and any recorded conveyance involving the lake.
The radio hissed.
Everyone waited.
Neighbors had started appearing.
A wildlife truck at the lake on Saturday morning was enough to draw attention.
I saw people standing near the walking path.
Someone on a driveway.
Another person near the mailbox cluster.
The radio came alive.
Dispatch confirmed the parcel remained recorded to Cody R. Anderson.
Original conveyance traced to 1972.
No transfer to Cedar Ridge Estates.
No recorded HOA easement.
No common-area designation.
Garrett lowered the radio.
He looked at Gail.
“Ma’am, the records we have do not support your ownership claim.”
“That cannot be correct.”
“Based on what I have here, Mr. Anderson is licensed and fishing on property recorded to him.”
“He has been formally declared a trespasser by the board.”
Garrett’s expression barely changed.
“An HOA board resolution does not change county title records.”
Gail’s arms dropped from their crossed position.
“This is a community lake.”
“Not according to the ownership information we can verify today.”
Then Garrett turned toward me.
“There’s no wildlife violation here.”
He handed my documents back.
And then he smiled.
“Keep sending those stocking reports.”
I laughed.
“Will do.”
He shook my hand.
The second officer came down far enough to add:
“We appreciate private landowners who actually maintain habitat instead of just complaining about fish size.”
That got a few quiet laughs from the people watching.
Gail stood behind them.
Alone.
The scene she had arranged had reversed completely.
She called the officers.
They thanked me.
Tom Reeves arrived before the wildlife truck even left.
He had watched from farther up the road.
Sandra came shortly afterward.
Tom looked at Gail.
Then at me.
“Cody.”
“Yeah?”
“I think we should move our two o’clock meeting up.”