"Good faith?" I asked softly.
I plugged my laptop into the clubhouse projector cable sitting on the podium.
"Let’s talk about good faith, Cynthia."
I hit enter.
The massive projection screen behind the board table lit up.
Displayed in gigantic, six-foot-tall black letters was Cynthia’s email from eight months prior:
“Formal title has not yet been transferred... Once the old structure is cleared and the occupant issue is handled, physical access will no longer present an obstacle to our schedule. Proceed with full site renderings.”
A collective, audible gasp echoed through the room.
Homeowners leaned forward in their chairs. People stood up in the back to read the screen.
"Is that your email address, Cynthia?" I asked, my voice ringing through the silent hall.
Cynthia stared at the screen, her face flushed with a mixture of horror and fury. "That... that email is taken out of context! That was preliminary internal communication!"
"You knew eight months ago that Cedar Ridge had no title to my land," I said, stepping closer to the board table. "You knew my father died. You assumed no one was left to defend the property. And when I moved back home, you didn't check title—you tried to frame me as a criminal squatter so your board wouldn't realize you had already squandered eighty-four thousand dollars of their money!"
"EIGHTY-FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS?!" a homeowner in the third row screamed, jumping to his feet.
"You spent eighty-four grand of our dues on land we don't own?!" another resident shouted.
"Is that why our annual assessment went up by $400 this year?!" a woman yelled from the side aisle.