“It means certain areas of your property are subject to community use.”
“No, they aren't.”
She stood.
“We'll discuss this at the next compliance hearing.”
“I won't attend a hearing conducted by a private company pretending to be a court.”
She stared at me.
Then smiled again.
“Everyone attends eventually.”
She walked away.
I watched her reach the street.
Then I wrote another line in my notebook.
Karen Whitmore believes she owns more than she does.
I didn't know yet how expensive that belief would become.
The Gate
The side gate had been there before we bought the house.
That mattered.
The gate connected our driveway to a narrow maintenance path behind the property.
The path led nowhere useful to ordinary residents.
It ended at a drainage easement.
But the HOA had recently decided the path was part of an “emergency circulation corridor.”
That phrase appeared for the first time in a newsletter.
Then in a violation notice.
Then in an email.
Then in a letter from an attorney.
The demand was simple.
Remove my lock.
Give Palmetto Community Enforcement unrestricted access.
I refused.
The reason wasn't complicated.
The gate opened directly into our backyard.
Kayla practiced volleyball there.
Denise gardened there.
I stored tools there.
And nobody had ever possessed a legal right to enter.
I requested the original plat.
The HOA sent me a scanned map.
It showed a line running behind our property.
Karen claimed it represented an access easement.
I checked the county records.
The line represented a drainage easement.
Not pedestrian access.
Not vehicle access.
Not community access.
Drainage.
I emailed Karen.
She replied within six minutes.
Our records indicate otherwise.
I responded:
Then provide the recorded instrument creating the access right.
She didn't answer.
Three days later, I received a violation.
UNAUTHORIZED OBSTRUCTION OF COMMUNITY EMERGENCY ACCESS.
Fine:
$500.
I appealed.
The appeal was denied.
Fine:
$1,000.
I appealed again.
The hearing was scheduled for a Thursday evening.
The “hearing officer” was a man named Ronald Pike.
I knew him.
Not personally.
Professionally.
He had once been an attorney for a private security company I investigated years earlier.
That was not automatically improper.
But it was interesting.
I attended anyway.
The hearing took place in a conference room inside the clubhouse.
Karen sat at the front.
Ronald sat beside her.
Three board members sat behind them.
Palmetto officers stood along the wall.
One had his hand resting on his baton.
Ronald looked at me.
“Mr. Avery, we're here to determine whether your conduct constitutes a violation of community standards.”
“Before we begin,” I said, “I'd like to ask whether this body has legal authority to impose fines against me beyond the authority granted by the governing documents.”
Karen interrupted.
“Mr. Avery—”
Ronald raised a hand.
“Let him speak.”
I continued.
“I'd also like to know whether Palmetto Community Enforcement has any governmental authority.”
“No.”
“Then why are your officers armed?”
Ronald shifted in his chair.
“That's not relevant.”
“It becomes relevant if they're using those weapons to enforce private rules.”
Karen leaned forward.
“You're being difficult.”
“No. I'm asking questions.”
She smiled.
“You always do.”
I placed a folder on the table.
Inside were:
The original plat.
My deed.
The title policy.
County property records.