The Board Meeting Turned When The Treasurer Read The Bank Balance

Dana read Petra's demand with her glasses low on her nose.

"Don't answer this yourself," she said.

"Wasn't going to."

"Good. Bring the originals on Thursday."

Petra's threat did not turn into her lawsuit. Ours came first, after she refused Dana's demand and told the crew to leave the fence panels in place.

Dana filed in Jefferson County Circuit Court. We asked the court to confirm my ownership, stop interference with my work, and address the money earned through use of my land.

The filing named the association and Petra. Dana explained that their interests might not stay the same.

"I don't want a court fight with every house down there," I said.

"Then give their board a chance to act on the facts. It needs its own advice."

She made two sets of copies, one for each defendant. I watched her check the page numbers against a list.

"Does it always take this much paper?"

"Paper is cheaper than fixing a missing page later."

I carried my set home flat, the way I carried glass.

"Right now she talks as if they're one person," she said. "They aren't."

While the court set a hearing, Mara and another director called their special meeting. Petra tried to cancel it by email. The meeting went ahead in the cottage laundry room.

Twenty-three residents crowded between folding tables and a dryer with a cracked knob.

I came with Dana. Lionel brought his notebook and the survey rolled in a tube.

Petra sat at the front.

"We are facing an attack on our way of life," she began.

"First, the title documents," Mara said.

"I'm speaking."

"And I'm recording the meeting as the rules require."

Petra looked around for a laugh. None came.

Lionel spread the survey across a table. He used two clean laundry bottles to hold it flat.

He traced the cottage lots with one finger, then the ridge boundary.

"These are separate parcels," he said. "A path across a parcel doesn't swallow the parcel."

"People have walked there for years," Petra said.

Dana placed the signed agreement beside the survey.

"With permission. Here are the terms."

Mara read them aloud, including the ban on rentals and fences.

The room went quiet enough to hear a zipper strike the turning dryer drum.

Nell Rusk, the association treasurer, stood up. She had joined the board only that winter. Petra had told her the reserve account was being moved to the new signers.

"I went to the bank this morning," Nell said. "The change was never completed. But I was able to obtain statements with the board documents."

Petra pushed her chair back.

"Those aren't ready to circulate."

"They came from the bank. They don't need editing."

Nell read the figures from a single page.

Eighteen completed events had brought in $32,400 over two seasons. Four future bookings added $2,400 in deposits.

There were $7,200 in payments marked cleaning, lights, portable toilets, and event supplies. Another $5,400 had gone to Petra as coordination fees.

That should have left $22,200 in the account, including the deposits.

"The balance is $10,200," Nell said.

Mara lowered her pen.

"Where's the other twelve thousand?"

Petra crossed her hands.

"Deferred management pay. I carried this place."

"Was it approved?" Nell asked.

"Everyone knew I worked."

"Was it approved?"

Petra looked toward the residents again. A man who had smiled during my fine pulled his chair farther from her table.

Nell held up a transfer record. The $12,000 had gone to Petra's personal account the morning after Dana's letter.

I felt something hard settle beneath my ribs.

She had read the warning. Then she had moved the money.

"The regular dues account is separate," Nell said quickly. "I checked that too. I found no transfers from it to this account."

I was glad she said it. Several people had been staring at me as if I already held their grocery money in my hands.

"I'm not asking for your dues," I told them. "I'm asking for the records of what happened on my land."

The board voted to stop new bookings, protect the remaining balance, and hire its own lawyer. Petra voted against each motion. She lost each one.

It was the first time I had seen her lose anything in a room full of neighbors.

Outside, Lionel helped me roll the survey.

"You kept quiet," he said.

"I wanted to yell."

"Paper has better lungs."

At home, I checked my mirror under the lamp. The edge still needed work. I covered it, gave it three soft taps, and left it until morning.

Dana called before I reached the house.

"We have the hearing date," she said. "And Petra has just filed a statement saying your father gave her the ridge."