Daniel stood up. He was slow about it, unbothered by the chaos around him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said softly. “I bought that portfolio as a business investment. I’ve been fair to every borrower. If someone pays on time, they never hear from me. But if this HOA tries to force me off land my family has owned since 1895, I will protect my interests.”
He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto Karen Whitmore for the first time that day.
“And that includes the value of the collateral securing those loans.”
Judge Hendricks stared at the plaintiff’s table. “Mr. Carver, does your client wish to proceed with this lawsuit?”
Mitchell dropped into his chair, leaning in so close to Karen that she could smell his expensive cologne. “Did you know about this?” he hissed.
“I… I got a letter,” Karen whispered, her hands shaking violently. “But I… I’m four months behind on my payments, Mitchell. If he accelerates my loan…”
Mitchell recoiled as if she had burned him. He realized instantly that he was representing a sinking ship, and his $450-an-hour fee was likely never getting paid.
Behind them, the gallery was practically a riot. The residents of Magnolia Heights—the same people who had cheered Karen on at the block parties—were glaring at her with murderous intent. One hundred and forty-two residents were realizing simultaneously that their aggressive HOA president had just threatened their homes, their credit, and their livelihoods because she didn't like the look of an old tractor.
“Your Honor,” Mitchell said, his voice completely devoid of its former arrogance. “The plaintiff respectfully withdraws the lawsuit.”
Judge Hendricks banged her gavel one last time. “Case dismissed with prejudice.”
Karen Whitmore made the mistake every entitled neighbor makes: she judged someone by their truck instead of checking who actually held the power.