She leaned into my truck window like she owned the road. Maybe that was the problem. She believed she did. "This is HOA private property," Karen said. Her voice was controlled, not loud, but deliberately pitched so the catering crew unloading 30 feet away could catch every word.
"You are trespassing. Get off this road before I have security remove you." I looked at her. Karen, I own this road. She didn't blink, didn't pause.
"Not according to our HOA records, and those are the only records that matter here." Inside my glove compartment was a certified county deed with my name on it. She didn't know that yet. She straightened up and signaled the security guard posted near the entrance gate. He walked over and placed his hand on my door frame.
Not inside the window, just on the frame. A statement that was meant to feel final. Before she turned, she said it loud enough for the whole driveway to hear. "I've got $12 million in this property, and the board approved every inch of it. Nobody can touch this."
Then she turned and walked back toward her resort. Karen glanced back at me once, then she kept walking. She had $12 million in the building behind her. She had a security guard's hand on my truck, and she had just told a man in front of witnesses that her HOA records were the only records that mattered. I sat with that for a moment.
I had arrived 20 minutes earlier and parked on the gravel road that cut along the edge of my property, the same road I'd been paying property taxes on for 6 years. From where I sat, I could see the whole operation running. Three refrigerated catering rigs lined up along the entrance. A florist's van with the back doors swung open. A white cargo van that two guys in black shirts were unloading portable bar equipment chafing dishes.
A folding sign that read Lakeside Grand and gold serif letters. Guests in formal wear were picking their way across the manicured lawn. women minding their heels on the gravel path Karen had installed 6 months ago, lined with white lanterns leading down to the lake. A photographer was adjusting her tripod near the water's edge. The glass and timber pavilion caught the morning light at the exact angle that made it look like a spread in a wedding venue magazine. From the road I legally owned, it looked almost impressive.