I had a farm to run.
Ninety-six families had homes whose access arrangements needed to be resolved.
An HOA had spent months attacking my reputation.
And now a judge would decide the contested legal rights.
A week before the hearing, David invited me to his office for a final preparation meeting.
The table was covered with exhibits.
The 1971 plat.
Recorded deeds.
County correspondence.
Board minutes.
The 1994 letter and supporting records.
My photograph log.
He walked through the argument step by step.
“First, we establish fee ownership of the corridor.”
“The plat.”
“And the chain of title. Then we address their claimed prescriptive easement.”
“The permission letter.”
“Yes. We’ll establish its origin, authenticity, and significance.”
“What about the amended request?”
“We argue that the court has no basis to grant the permanent express easement they’re requesting merely because the neighborhood depends on the road.”
I nodded.
“And their maintenance records?”
“They’re not meaningless. The HOA really did maintain the pavement, and their counsel will emphasize the expense and the community’s reliance.”
“But maintenance doesn’t equal title.”
“Correct.”
I studied the old letter.
“What if Margaret claims she never saw it?”
“That may be true.”
“What if her attorney didn’t know it existed?”
“That may also be true.”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters to how we characterize their conduct, but it doesn’t make the contents of the document disappear.”
He closed the folder.
“You need to stay calm in court.”
“I can do that.”
“Even if they call you a speculator?”
“Yes.”
“Even if Margaret makes faces or whispers loudly?”
“I can ignore her.”
“Good.”
He hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“I want you to remember that winning the legal question doesn’t automatically solve the practical access problem.”
“I know.”
“You’ve said you don’t want to close the road. Once this is resolved, we should formalize an arrangement.”
“That’s what I want.”
“Then we’ll take that step after the court decides what rights, if any, already exist.”
I looked at him.
“David, I don’t want those families trapped between my deed and Margaret’s ego.”
“I understand.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He tapped the letter one last time.
