“Twelve,” she replied smoothly. “Beautiful properties. My husband Chadwick and I relocated here from California. He works in tech remotely. We’ve brought certain standards to the area.”
Standards. On land that had been farmed since before she learned to walk.
She opened the binder, pages crisp and blindingly white, fresh printer ink still sharp in the air. “This parcel has always been part of our association. The previous owner signed covenants agreeing to monthly dues.”
I wiped dirt from my hands onto my jeans and pulled my folded deed from my back pocket. “This land is zoned agricultural. It’s been farmland since the nineteen sixties. There is no HOA here.”
Her eyes flicked down to the deed and back up again. That was when I saw it. The smirk. Small, practiced, confident.
“Those covenants are legally binding,” she said. “You inherit the obligations.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Fifteen thousand in back dues. Seven hundred fifty monthly moving forward.”
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