my crop.”
“We improved the property for public use.”
“You sold tickets.”
“For a charity event.”
“You built structures.”
“Temporary structures.”
“You installed electrical cables.”
“Licensed vendors handled—”
“You forged my signature.”
“I did not say that.”
“Neither did I.”
That stopped her.
She had walked directly into it.
The golf cart driver stared at the steering wheel.
Trish lowered her voice.
“You’re creating a serious problem for yourself.”
That sentence changed everything.
Until then, I thought I was dealing with arrogance.
Entitlement.
Maybe a reckless HOA board that had convinced itself some old agreement existed.
But people who make innocent mistakes don’t usually threaten the property owner standing on his own land.
“What problem?”
“There are contractual obligations now. Vendors. Families. Sponsors. The county tourism office has promoted this event.”
“Sounds like your problem.”
“Cancellation damages could exceed a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Your problem.”
“The HOA relied on documented
