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I never imagined my quiet retirement as Governor would end with an HOA president trying to steal my home of 50 years through a massive fraud scheme. But when they destroyed my late wife's memorial bench and tried bulldozing my rose garden at midnight, I had to ask myself: what would happen if they discovered they just messed with the wrong governor? Welcome and please subscribe for more HOA stories! The banging on my front door jolted me awake at 7 AM sharp. I was already tired from last night's late budget meeting at the governor's office, but someone clearly had other plans for my Sunday morning. Opening the door, I found Barbara Wilson, our new HOA president, tapping her foot with that familiar look of disapproval on her face.
"Governor Williams, your roses are three inches taller than regulation height," she announced, waving her measuring tape like a weapon. "This is your fourth violation this month."
I looked past her at my wife Sarah's beloved rose garden, the one thing I'd promised to keep alive after cancer took her last year. Every morning for forty-nine years, she'd tend to those roses while I had my coffee on the porch. Now they were apparently a crime against the neighborhood.
"Barbara," I said calmly, "those roses have been here since 1974. The HOA didn't even exist until 1990."
She pushed her designer sunglasses up her nose and thrust a paper into my hands. "New bylaws were passed last month. You should attend the meetings if you want a say in things. Being governor doesn't make you special here."
I bit back a response about how I'd missed the meeting because I was handling a state emergency. Instead, I watched her march across my lawn, measuring tape still in hand, to harass Tom Patterson about his mailbox color.
That afternoon, while sorting through my mail, I found something strange - a letter addressed to "Current Resident" rather than my name. Inside was an eviction notice, claiming I had thirty days to vacate the property. My hands started shaking. This had to be a mistake.
I called Tom right away. He'd been my neighbor for thirty years and served on the original HOA board. "Hey, did you get any weird mail today?"
"John, thank goodness you called," Tom's voice was urgent. "I just saw your house listed for sale on Zillow. Posted this morning."
My stomach dropped. "That's impossible. I own this house outright."
"Well, somebody thinks differently. The listing agent is Wilson Real Estate Group."
Barbara Wilson. The pieces started falling into place - her constant harassment about the roses, the sudden new bylaws, the eviction notice. This wasn't about garden regulations at all.
I spent the next hour digging through my home office, searching for the original deed. When I finally found it in Sarah's old filing system, another document fell out - a handwritten letter from her that I'd never seen before.
"My dearest John," it began, "if you're reading this, something's gone wrong with the house. Check the bottom of my rose garden, third bush from the left. I buried copies of all our important papers there in a waterproof box. You always teased me about being too careful with documents, but I had a feeling we'd need them someday."