The Treasurer looked physically ill.
The Vice President looked furious.
The Homeowner stood in back with his attorney.
The President opened.
“We are dealing with an unforeseen historical title irregularity.”
A resident called:
“You mean his road?”
Another:
“How much is the loan frozen?”
The President hit the gavel.
“Order.”
The Homeowner’s attorney whispered:
“She brought a gavel?”
“Apparently.”
The President continued.
“The association purchased the parcel based on professional title review.”
The Treasurer leaned toward her.
She ignored him.
“A historic mineral reservation has now been asserted.”
The Homeowner raised one eyebrow.
Asserted.
As if the county recorder had appeared yesterday.
The President continued.
“The board believes the claim may be limited, obsolete, or otherwise unenforceable.”
The association attorney shifted.
The Homeowner noticed.
So did his attorney.
That lawyer did not like the sentence.
A resident raised a hand.
“How much have we spent?”
The Treasurer finally spoke.
“Land purchase, one point six million.”
“Preconstruction and site work approximately six hundred eighty thousand.”
“Foundation and mobilization obligations approximately nine hundred thousand committed.”
Someone gasped.
Another resident stood.
“So three million already?”
“Some amounts are contractually committed, not paid.”
“Can we get them back?”
The Treasurer looked toward legal.
No clean answer.
The President stepped in.
“The project remains viable.”
The Vice President spoke for the first time.
“That depends on title resolution.”
The room changed.
Board disagreement.
Public.
The President looked toward him sharply.
He continued.
“The lender has suspended draws.”
“Temporary.”
“Yes.”
“But every day adds cost.”
She snapped:
“We are aware.”
The Vice President looked at residents.
“I think they should be aware too.”
Murmurs.
The President gripped her pen.
The Homeowner remained quiet.
He did not need to attack.
Numbers were doing it for him.
Then a resident asked:
“Why wasn't this found before we bought the property?”
Silence.
The President said:
“It was believed to be obsolete.”
The Homeowner’s attorney looked toward him.
There.
Public admission.
Another resident asked:
“Who believed that?”
The President answered:
“Professional advisers.”
The Treasurer turned toward her.
“Which advisers?”
She stared.
He continued.
“I want names.”
She looked increasingly angry.
“This is not productive.”
The Homeowner’s attorney whispered:
“Very productive.”
A resident near the front stood.
“Did you know about this deed?”
The President replied:
“Not this specific document.”
Technically careful.
Then the Homeowner raised his hand.
The room noticed.
The President did not want to call on him.
Eventually:
“What?”