They quit when they’re destroyed. You need ammunition buried in public records. I’m pulling full chain of title tomorrow. Every transaction back to when this land was timber forest. I thanked her and tried sleeping. Didn’t happen. 2 a.m. staring at ceiling planks, listening to the house creek, thinking about Ry’s text. She doesn’t lose.
Week one became psychological warfare. Darlene started patrolling every morning in her pontoon. White fiberglass twin outboards probably cost more than my truck. She’d idle 50 ft from my dock. binoculars raised, photographing everything. The reek of gasoline exhaust would roll across the water, poisoning the clean pine smell I’d moved here for.
I’d stand there with coffee, waving like we were best friends. Her jaw would clench. She’d gun the throttles and leave, wake, slapping my pilings. Small victories. Then the certified letter arrived. Thick envelope, law firm return address. Hutchkins and Marble, attorneys at law. A cease and desist claiming my dock violated established community waterfront access agreements and demanding I halt all unauthorized lake usage. I googled the firm didn’t exist.
The address was a mailboxes plus in Duth. She was threatening me with fake lawyers. Next came the email blast to 47 HOA members CCing me. It is with regret I inform you our newest lakefront resident refuses to pay dues, submit plans, or honor community covenants. Legal counsel has been retained. We will protect our shared resources.
Unity matters. Darlene Pritchard, president. I read it twice, felt heat crawling up my neck, then heard my doorbell. Opened it to an older couple. ‘7s flannel and cardigans. Nervous smiles. Randy Kazinski. This is Deborah. We texted you. Can we come in? I made coffee. Real stuff, not the gas station punishment I’d been drinking.
