“One final warning. This neighborhood has used that road longer than you’ve owned this property. Thirty-one years. You don’t get to erase that history because you bought yourself a big piece of dirt.”
I looked directly at her.
“Thirty-one years is a long time to use something without checking who owns it.”
She gave me a contemptuous smile.
“Then I suggest you start checking.”
She climbed into the SUV.
The others followed.
As the vehicle backed through my cattle guard, Margaret lowered her window.
“And don’t get clever. We have the money and the legal team to bury you.”
I watched the SUV disappear down the county highway.
Then I walked to my truck, opened the glove compartment, and took out a folded county plat map.
It was dated 1971.
I spread it across my steering wheel.
There was Cedarwood Ridge, outlined along the eastern edge of the larger property.
There was the road, running through the southwest corner.
And there was the subdivision boundary, ending roughly 60 feet east of the road’s center line.
The pavement lay inside my parcel.
Not partially.
Not ambiguously.
Entirely.
I folded the map, put it back in the glove compartment, and called my attorney.
“David,” I said when he answered, “the HOA just sued me.”
There was a short silence.
“Did you touch the road?”
“No.”
“Block it?”
“No.”
“Threaten anyone?”
“No. They came onto my land and attached signs to my fence.”
“Did you document it?”
“Every sign and every tire track.”
“Good. Send me the complaint.”
I looked toward the road.
“David, remember what you told me before closing?”
“About the easement?”
“Yes.”
“I remember.”
“They’re claiming they own the right to use it.”
“On what basis?”
“Thirty-one years of use.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked the question that would eventually decide the entire case.
“Are they claiming the use was adverse?”
I reopened the envelope.
The answer was in the opening pages.
“Looks that way.”
“Send me everything.”
I hung up and looked at the three signs fluttering against my fence.
Margaret thought she’d taken the first step toward taking control of my land.
In reality, she’d just forced the one question her HOA had avoided for three decades into a courtroom.
