This was supposed to be sanctuary. Lucia’s last words, morphine soft under those humming hospital lights. Find somewhere beautiful, Bennett. Promise me. I promised. I found it. Now some self-appointed dictator is telling me I’m trespassing on my own land. I call Gretchen, my real estate attorney. Mid60s, sharp enough to cut glass, suffers zero fools.
Did I buy into an HOA? Long pause, papers rustling. Not per your deed. Forward that packet. Every page, something stinks. I photograph all 19 pages. Send them, then sit on the dock. Practice the breathing. Four counts in, four hold, four out. Fire Academy basics. Control the adrenaline. 20 minutes later, my phone buzzes. Gretchen, call me tonight.
Don’t sign anything. Then a text from an unknown local number. This is Randy Kazinski, your neighbor two houses down. Saw Darlene leave your place. She did this to the last guy who owned Lakefront outside the HOA. Forced him out in 8 months. Be careful. She doesn’t lose. I stare at that message.
So, this wasn’t her first time. Darlene Pritchard had a system, a track record. She was a predator who’d done this before. She just didn’t know she’d picked the wrong prey this time. I didn’t know it yet, but Darlene had declared war on a man who’d spent two decades walking into burning buildings. She thought I’d run. Firefighters don’t run from fire.
We walked straight into it. That night, I called Gretchen. “Your deed is spotless,” she said. “No HOA covenants, no restrictions, nothing requiring membership. Darlene’s packet is fantasy.” I asked if I should just ignore her. “Legally, yes. Practically, people like Darlene don’t quit because they’re wrong.
