“No.”
“Then who?”
“My counsel.”
The treasurer sighed.
“That means you have a private dispute.”
The woman looked offended.
“It affects the community.”
“How?”
“The fence changes the streetscape.”
“Every fence does.”
The conversation escalated.
Then a board member introduced a motion.
The blonde woman would recuse herself from all decisions involving the homeowner’s property until the dispute was resolved.
She objected.
The vote passed four to one.
She did not vote.
The homeowner received an email the next morning.
His fence application would be reconsidered by the vice president and architectural committee without the president’s participation.
Two days later, it was approved.
He called the contractor.
Then paused.
“Wait.”
The contractor sounded confused.
“I thought you wanted this done immediately.”
“I did.”
“What changed?”
The homeowner looked toward the blonde woman’s driveway.
“I don’t want to build something that makes a negotiation harder.”
The contractor laughed.
“You’re the first customer who ever told me that.”
“Give me another week.”
The homeowner met the blonde woman at a neutral place.
Community clubhouse.
No attorneys in the room.
Both attorneys available by phone.
The woman arrived carrying a folder.
The homeowner almost smiled.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at the folder.
Then at him.
“I like documents.”
“I noticed.”
They sat.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
The homeowner started.
“I’m not trying to take your driveway.”
The woman looked skeptical.
“My lawyer says your proposal gives you control over when I eventually replace it.”
“No.”
“It says when you replace it, the new driveway needs to be on your property.”
“That is control.”
“That is a boundary.”
She looked away.
The homeowner continued.
“If I wanted to be difficult, I could demand you remove the encroachment now.”
“Your lawyer told you that?”
“He told me I could seek it.”
“Not that I would win.”
“Correct.”
She looked surprised at the concession.
The homeowner continued.
“I don’t want to spend two years paying attorneys to find out.”
“Neither should you.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“Then why are we fighting?”
She looked at him.
“Because if I sign your agreement, I admit I was wrong.”
The homeowner stared.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
She became defensive.
“My property value.”
“Future sale.”
“Title implications.”
“All legitimate.”
He nodded.
“But you just said admit you were wrong first.”
She looked down.
For once, she did not deny it.
The homeowner leaned back.
“Can I tell you what I think happened?”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I think your husband widened the driveway fourteen years ago.”
She froze.
He continued.
“I think the contractor used the old fence as the line.”
Her face changed.
“You found the permit.”
“Yes.”
The woman looked away.
The homeowner continued.
“I think everybody assumed the fence was correct.”
“The contractor.”
“Your husband.”
“Maybe you.”
“Maybe whoever owned my house before me.”
“And once the driveway existed long enough, you stopped thinking of it as something that could be wrong.”
She stared at the table.