HOA Put Their Boat Dock on My Waterfront, I Dismantled It and Kept The Materials as Payment…
There was a dock, an actual wooden dock, bolted into my waterfront when I got back from a 3-week work trip. Not a small one either. I’m talking about a 30-foot eyesore stretching from my lawn into the lake I’d paid extra to live on. And the best part, it wasn’t mine. I’m Archer Flint. I bought my retirement home two years ago after 25 years as a structural engineer.
Quiet lakeside property, no kids, one dog named Rusty and my closest neighbors a quarter mile down. Or at least it used to be quiet until the Willow Shores HOA got a new president. Enter Lorraine Haskin. Mid-50s bleach blonde bob sunglasses too big for her face and the voice of a goose in a blender. She got elected while I was out of town last fall and ever since she’s been on a power trip.
First, it was mailbox paint colors. Then, it was lawn length inspections. And now, apparently, she decided the HOA needed a community dock. Guess where they decided to build it? Directly in front of my backyard. No notice, no request, no permission. I knocked on Lorraine’s door the day I got back. She was watering her fake plants on the porch like she was expecting me.
Lorraine, I said, trying to keep it polite. There’s a dock on my property. She tilted her head. It’s for the community, Archer. The board approved it. Your board can’t vote to build on land you don’t own. Oh, don’t start with legal ease, she said, waving me off. We’ve already allocated the funds. You weren’t home and we needed to move forward.
It took everything I had not to lose my cool. You’ve got 72 hours to remove it, I said. After that, I’m taking it down myself. She laughed. Touch it and you’ll be fined for destruction of HOA property. I didn’t respond. I just walked away, but I wasn’t bluffing. Back at my place, I pulled up the plat map from the original sale documents, the shoreline, and 10 ft into the water were private, my private property.
I also had photos from my security cams that clearly showed a crew hired by the HOA hauling lumber and construction tools onto my land. No permits, no easements, nothing. I called the county zoning office the next morning. They confirmed nobody had filed anything for new construction. Not only was the HOA trespassing, they were in violation of at least three zoning ordinances.
And Lorraine was listed as the project initiator. That was all I needed. 3 days later, I brought out my tools. Cordless drill, crowbar, gloves. took the whole dock apart plank by plank. Neighbors watched from their porches and a few even gave me a thumbs up. I loaded the wood onto my trailer and parked it in my driveway.
The best part? Lorraine came storming over just as I was stacking the last of the dock posts. “What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched. “Collecting materials,” I said. “You stole HOA property?” “Nope,” I said, pointing to the survey flags I’d reinstalled around my lawn. You built a dock on my land. That’s called illegal dumping. I cleaned it up.
You’re welcome. You’ll be hearing from our attorney. I looked her dead in the eye. Good. He can explain to you what trespassing and unauthorized construction mean. She stood there, mouth open, face red, fists clenched. I walked right past her and went inside. But I wasn’t done yet. Not even close.
The morning after I dismantled the dock, I woke up to the sound of a car idling outside. Not just any car, an unmarked white SUV with tinted windows and a magnetic seal on the side. Willow Shores compliance division. I pulled the curtain back just enough to see a man in khakis and a navy polo scribbling something onto a clipboard while walking around my truck and trailer.
He took photos from multiple angles, crouched to inspect the wood I’d stacked, and then placed a bright orange violation notice on my mailbox. Then he drove off. I walked out to read it. The paper was formatted like a government citation, but it was clearly homemade. The letter head had the HOA’s logo, but the violation was for unauthorized possession of HOA construction materials.
The fine, $500, due in 5 days. I folded the paper and walked it straight to the fire pit behind my shed. An hour later, I was at the county courthouse filing a report for illegal construction and environmental disruption. The clerk raised her eyebrows when I showed her the photos of the dock and the plat map proving it was on my land.
She made a few calls and within minutes I was sitting across from a zoning enforcement officer named Jasmine RLE. You’re telling me they built this without a permit and without your consent? She asked. They didn’t even leave a note. I said, I came home and it was jutting out of my yard like it belonged there.
Jasmine leaned back in her chair. We’ve had complaints about Willow Shores before. Usually, it’s small things, mailbox height, flower beds, that sort of nonsense. But this this is serious. That lake’s part of a protected watershed. You can’t just drive pilings into the shoreline without an EPA permit. I handed her a flash drive withthe footage from my outdoor cameras.
She plugged it into her laptop, watched for a few minutes, and nodded. This will do. I’ll need to open a code enforcement investigation. Do I have your permission to contact law enforcement if the property lines were violated? You do, I said. She looked up. You might want to prepare for push back.
HOAs like this don’t roll over easy. I’m not asking them to roll over, I said. Just to back off what doesn’t belong to them. By that afternoon, word had gotten around. I noticed more neighbors walking their dogs past my house than usual, all slowing down to peer at my trailer full of dismantled dock lumber. A few chatted with each other in low voices, glancing back at my windows.
I didn’t mind. Let them wonder. That evening, a letter arrived in a sealed envelope, handd delivered and unsigned. It wasn’t from the HOA. It was from a neighbor, apparently anonymous. The letter was typed and the tone was clipped and formal. Mr. Flint, please be advised that your recent actions have drawn unnecessary attention to the community and may result in neighborhood devaluation.
We strongly urge you to return the materials and issue a formal apology to avoid further escalation. I read it twice, then slid it into a file folder I’d started labeling HOA shenanigans. I had a feeling I’d need it later. The next day, Jasmine returned with a sheriff’s deputy and a surveyor. They walked the shoreline, took fresh measurements, and used stakes to mark the legal boundary.
The deputy took official photos. When he was done, he asked if I wanted to press charges for trespassing. I paused. “Not yet,” I said. “Let’s see how they react to this.” That afternoon, Lorraine showed up again, this time with two other board members, a man in his 60s with a limp and a younger woman with a clipboard and a tight jaw.
They came right into the yard without asking, stopping 2 ft from the marked boundary line. “We’re here to negotiate,” Lorraine said. I stayed on my porch. “Then stay on your side of the line.” The man with the limp held up a piece of paper. “We’re offering to repurpose the dock. If you return the materials, we’ll move it to the other side of the lake.
No hard feelings. You think I took it for fun? I said, “You dumped thousands of dollars of illegal construction on my private property. I’m keeping it as compensation for the cleanup.” “That’s theft,” the woman with the clipboard said. “No,” I said, pointing to the new sheriff’s photos posted on my garage door.
“This is evidence, and the county’s already investigating.” Lorraine narrowed her eyes. You think you can scare us with paperwork? We have legal counsel. Good, I said. Because you’ll need it. They left without another word. That night, I got a call from an unfamiliar number. When I answered, a thin voice said, “Mr. Flint, this is Officer Delgado with the state environmental agency.
We’ve received a forwarded complaint regarding illegal shoreline modification at your address. May I ask if you authorize the dock construction? I didn’t even know it existed until I got home. I said it was built while I was gone. We’re sending an investigator to assess the damage. If the construction was unauthorized, the HOA could be facing civil penalties and environmental fines. Good, I said.
I’ll be home all week. 2 days later, a black SUV with state plates pulled up. A woman in a windbreaker stepped out and introduced herself as Agent Callaway. She spent over an hour measuring post holes and inspecting the disturbed sediment around the water line. When she was done, she handed me a contact card.
This is going to get messy, she said. But you’re in the right. That shoreline’s protected for a reason. If they used treated lumber or disturbed aquatic vegetation, they’re in violation of multiple regulations. They never asked, I said. They just assumed they could take whatever space they wanted.
That’s not how it works, she said. Not anymore. On the third day, Lorraine escalated. A tow truck rolled up at dawn and tried to hook up to my trailer. I stepped outside just in time and shouted at the driver before he could latch the chain. “You got a removal order?” I asked. The guy looked confused. I was told this was illegally dumped equipment.
HOA said it was theirs. I pointed at the orange survey flags. That’s private property. You touch that trailer I file for theft and trespass. He hesitated, made a call, then quietly backed off and drove away. I followed up that afternoon by filing a police report against the HOA for attempted theft.
I attached the footage from my doorbell camera showing the driver rolling in and reaching for the hitch. Later that week, I got a visit from a man in a gray suit with a leather briefcase. Said he was representing the HOA’s legal council. His tone was polite but firm. They’re willing to drop the fine and file a mutual release of claims if you surrender the materials and agree not to pursue further action.
I leaned againstthe door frame and in return I get what they try to take something else next month. He adjusted his tie. or you could risk a civil suit for unlawful possession of property. You’re welcome to try, I said, but you might want to let your clients know the EPA and zoning board are both investigating. I don’t think a judge is going to side with a group who built a dock on land they didn’t own and then tried to steal it back.
He didn’t reply, just closed his briefcase and left. That night, I got an email from Jasmine. The county was issuing a stop work order on any new HOA construction until the investigation concluded. The state environmental agency had also issued a compliance hearing notice with Lorraine named directly. And best of all, a neighbor I’d never spoken to before, a retired judge named Howard, dropped by with a six-pack and a smile.
I’ve been waiting for someone to stand up to that woman, he said, settling into one of the chairs on my porch. Mind if I help you draft your counter claim? Be my guest, I said. We’ve got a lot of material to work with. It was the following Monday when the real storm hit. Not the kind that darkened skies or rattled windows, but the kind that arrived in pressed suits and badge carriers.
I was in the backyard replacing a cracked step on my deck when a white sedan pulled up beside the house. Two men stepped out, one in a navy windbreaker with a gold badge clipped to the chest, the other in business casual with a clipboard tucked under his arm. The first one introduced himself. Detective Reigns, County Property Crimes Division.
This is investigator Dalton from the state auditor’s office. I wiped my hands on a rag. What brings you to my end of the lake? Dalton flipped open the clipboard. We’ve been reviewing financial documentation from the Willow Shores HOA. Your situation triggered a deeper dive. I figured they might be cooking something.
I said, “What you find?” Reigns glanced at the woods stacked neatly along the side of my garage. We’d prefer to walk you through it inside if you don’t mind. I led them into the living room. Rusty followed them cautiously, sniffing their shoes before settling down by the fireplace. Dalton laid out a map of the community and tapped a red dot marked directly over my lot.
This is what they submitted to the county’s permit office as part of a capital improvement request. It shows your shoreline as common access reserve, a designation that doesn’t exist in the original plat. I’ve got the deed, I said. It’s not common anything. We’ve seen it, said Reigns. The problem is they attached this fabricated map to a funding request that unlocked nearly $30,000 in reserve funds.
Those funds were then paid to a contractor Garland Shoreline services. I raised an eyebrow. Never heard of them. Dalton pulled out a print out. They’re real. But here’s where it gets interesting. The payment never hit Garland’s business account. It was rerouted through a shell company registered last year to someone named, wait for it, Maxine Haskin.
I frowned, Lorraine’s sister. Correct. Rain said the contractor who actually did the work wasn’t licensed. He was subcontracted under the table. The dock was built with unapproved materials, no permits, and the funds used were misappropriated from the HOA’s contingency fund. Dalton leaned forward. That’s felony fraud.
at least two counts. Possibly more if we find evidence of collusion within the board, I exhaled slowly. So what now? We’re pursuing a warrant for HOA financial records, Re said. But we need your cooperation. Would you be willing to provide a formal statement about the dock, the property line, and your interactions with the board? You’ll have it by tonight, I said.
They left with copies of my security footage, the plat map, and digital files of all correspondents from the HOA. Less than two hours later, I got a text from Howard, the retired judge. He didn’t waste words. Turn on channel 5. The evening news was already halfway through the segment when I clicked over. The anchor was standing in front of the Willow Shores community sign, microphone in hand, with a headline scrolling beneath her.
local HOA under state investigation for financial misconduct. They showed drone footage of the lake zooming in on my freshly marked shoreline. Then they cut to footage of Lorraine being approached outside her house by a reporter. She refused to comment, slamming the door in the reporter’s face as a man in a tie tried to block the camera with his hand.
The anchor turned to the camera. Sources say the president of the HOA is being investigated in connection with falsified documents and misuse of homeowner funds. The state auditor’s office confirmed that a criminal inquiry is underway. The phone didn’t stop ringing that night. A few neighbors called to apologize for staying silent.
One older couple, the Murray, brought over a pie and said they were done sitting on their hands. I thanked them and added [clears throat]their names to a growing list of residents who were finally fed up. By Wednesday, the HOA office, really just a rented trailer near the front gate, was shuttered. A sign taped to the door read, “Closed until further notice.
” But the real revelation came that Friday when I received a Manila envelope by certified mail. Inside was a packet of documents, unsigned, but clearly leaked. It contained internal emails between Lorraine and two board members. They discussed backdating permits, fabricating community use designations, and pressuring the contractor to keep it quiet.
One email even referenced me by name. Flint’s out of town another 10 days. We can have it built before he gets back. If he raises hell, we’ll find him for obstruction. I sent copies of the emails straight to Reigns and Dalton. By Monday morning, Lorraine and one of the board members had been arrested. The footage of her being led into a squad car in a pale pink cardigan was all over the local news.
No sunglasses this time. The remaining board members tried to regroup. They called for an emergency community meeting at the clubhouse. First time in years they’d used it for anything other than potlucks. I went, partly out of curiosity, partly because Howard insisted we attend as a block. The room was packed.
Dozens of residents, some who hadn’t spoken to each other in years, sat shoulderto-shoulder on folding chairs. A few stood along the back wall. At the front, the remaining board members looked more like defendants than leaders. One of them, a wiry guy named Brent, who’d always looked nervous even before all this stepped up to the mic.
We understand that recent events have shaken the community. We are cooperating fully with law enforcement and we’re looking to appoint interim leadership until formal elections can be held. A woman stood up from the third row. How do we know the rest of you weren’t involved? Murmurss rippled through the room. Another man shouted.
You all signed those checks, Brent stammered. We We didn’t know the funds were being diverted. Lorraine handled most of the finances. Howard stood up beside me. That’s not an excuse, he said. You signed off on a project built on someone else’s land. You never notified the homeowner, never verified the boundaries, and then tried to punish him for pushing back.
I stepped forward. There’s a motion on the table, I said. Dissolve the current board. Appoint a temporary trustee panel composed of homeowners who have never served. Let them manage affairs until a special election is held, supervised by a third-party mediator. Brent looked like he wanted to melt through the floor.
We don’t have the authority to. You lost your authority when you let a con artist run the show, someone else said from the back. A vote was called on the spot. Out of nearly 60 homeowners present, only two abstained. The rest voted to remove the seated board immediately. Howard was elected interim trustee by a landslide.
I was named oversight coordinator, mostly because people figured I already had the receipts and they weren’t wrong. Over the next week, we launched a full audit of HOA finances. What we found would have made a banker faint. Gym equipment that never existed. Landscaping contracts build twice. a playground renovation that was paid for but never done.
Over $70,000 had vanished in less than 18 months. Every missing dollar was documented and turned over to the auditor’s office. Refunds were negotiated. The state froze the HOA’s account and appointed a special financial monitor. New bylaws were drafted, ones that required full transparency for all projects, mandatory homeowner votes for any capital expenditures, and a rotating review council.
The dock materials, I donated them to a local veterans fishing program. They built a floating dock on public land, fully permitted, with a plaque that read, “Donated by the residents of Willow Shores, built with reclaimed dignity.” It was poetic. A month later, I stood on my clean shoreline and watched the sun rise over the lake.
No dock, no nonsense, just Rusty beside me, tail thumping. For the first time in a long time, it felt like my home again. Not just because I defended it, but because the neighborhood finally stood up, too. Howard knocked on my door just past sunrise, holding a folded newspaper and two coffees. “Back page,” he said, handing it to me.
The headline read, “DA considers further charges in Willow Shores HOA scandal.” Beneath it was a photo not of Lorraine this time, but of a man I hadn’t seen before. According to the caption, it was Clyde Fenshaw, the HOA’s former treasurer. Turns out he was in deeper than anyone thought,” Howard said, stepping inside. The auditor traced more than half the misused funds to a private account tied to him. They froze it yesterday.
I read the article while Rusty circled Howard’s legs, tail wagging. According to the report, Fenshaw had been quietly funneling reserve funds into a brokerageaccount under a false name. Lorraine’s scheme with the dock had just been the tip of a rotting iceberg. And the best part, Howard said, dropping into the chair by the window.
He’s been trying to claim he was just moving the money temporarily to diversify HOA assets. I laughed once, sharp and low. How’s that holding up? He made the mistake of saying it during a deposition. The DA’s office is reviewing it as evidence of intent. They’re building a criminal conspiracy case now. Wire fraud, falsification of public records, and something about misuse of fiduciary authority.
It was surreal watching the dominoes fall. What had started with 30 ft of stolen lakefront had unraveled into a full-blown financial scandal. The neighborhood was still reeling, but the energy had shifted. Later that week, the newly formed oversight committee held its first open review session in the clubhouse.
I stood at the front with two other volunteers, a fire marshal named Dena and a high school principal named Lewis. The room was packed again, but this time the atmosphere was focused, not angry. Lewis tapped the projector remote and brought up a spreadsheet. We’ve recovered just over 23,000 in misappropriated funds.
Another 19,000 is pending seizure from Fenshaw’s account. Legal proceedings are underway to reclaim that as restitution. A woman near the back raised her hand. Are we going to press charges as a community? Dena nodded. The county prosecutor is already pursuing criminal charges, but we’re also filing a civil suit on behalf of all affected residents.
That includes damages for unauthorized expenditures, fraudulent billing, and deceptive governance. A man in a blue windbreaker stood up. What about the dues increase they pushed through last year? They claimed it was to repair the irrigation system, but nothing ever got fixed. I pulled up a photo from the audit, a check made out to Green Horizon Landscaping, a business that, according to the Secretary of State, had been dissolved 5 years ago.
That was a front, I said. The funds were rerouted through a dummy vendor. We’re including that in the fraud claims. Another resident, a soft-spoken woman named Carla, looked genuinely shaken. I trusted them. I thought they were keeping the place safe and clean. Howard, seated in the front row, turned toward her. That’s what predators count on, that trust.
But not anymore. Not here. We left the meeting with a signed petition from over 70% of the homeowners, formally authorizing the committee to represent them in legal matters. With that, we had standing. The next day, I met with the county prosecutor, a sharp woman named Elise Gara.
Her office was already kneedeep in the case, but she made time to walk me through what came next. We’ve got enough to indict on multiple counts, she said, flipping through a binder thicker than a phone book. But the real kicker is this. Fenaw tried to move funds overseas 3 days before the audit began. Wire transfer flagged it. He’s looking at premeditated financial flight, which means prison time, I asked.
[clears throat] If convicted, absolutely. He’s already lawyered up. But the evidence is strong. And Lorraine’s in a worse position. She signed off on every transaction. I shook my head all over a dock. No, she said that was just the opening act. You pulled the thread others were afraid to touch. Two weeks passed. Then three.
In that time, the community transformed. Fences got repainted. Neighbors started helping each other with yard work. Someone organized a weekend cleanup of the abandoned play area near the East Trail and then the indictments dropped. The local news ran a full segment. Lorraine charged with conspiracy to commit fraud, falsification of public records, and misuse of public funds.
Fenshaw facing additional charges for attempted wire fraud and obstruction. Two other board members received misdemeanor charges for negligence and failure to report known wrongdoing. The courtroom was standing room only on the first day of hearings. I sat between Howard and Carla. Lorraine’s expression was blank as the charges were read.
Fenshaw looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. The judge didn’t mince words. This court takes the deliberate betrayal of public trust seriously. The evidence presented suggests not just poor judgment, but systemic abuse of authority for personal gain. Bail was denied for both Lorraine and Fenshaw. Afterward, I stood outside the courthouse watching as reporters chased down anyone with a clipboard.
A few recognized me, but I gave no statements. There was nothing more to say. Back at home, the lake was calm. The shoreline had started to heal. Grass was returning where the dockposts had torn up the earth. That evening, a small group from the neighborhood came by. Dena, Lewis, Carla, and a few others.
They brought folding chairs, lemonade, and a sense of peace that hadn’t existed 6 months ago. Lewis raised a plastic cup. To Archer, who reminded us that one person standing upcan make the rest of us remember how to stand. I held up my own. to everyone who stopped looking the other way. The sun dipped low, casting gold across the water. Rusty curled up at my feet.
No one spoke of the dock anymore. Not because they’d forgotten, but because they didn’t need to. It had become the symbol of something bigger, and its removal had cleared more than just wood and nails. It had cleared the path forward.
