HOA Sold My $1M Home Without Permission — They Didn’t Know I’m the Governor Who Bought It…

When the sheriff’s deputies rolled up with the attorney general’s investigation unit and three news vans, the HOA president was still yelling at me about my mailbox. “You can’t just show up and claim this house,” shrieked Brenda Mallerie, president of the Silver Brier Preserve Homeowners Association, standing on my front lawn in her power capri and rhinestone sandals.

“We legally auctioned it, sir. I don’t care if you’re dash dash.” She stopped, finally noticing the unmarked SUV doors opening in unison and the familiar emblem glinting on the license plates. The lead investigator walked over, nodded to me, then turned to Brenda. Ma’am, he said calmly. You illegally foreclosed on property owned by the sitting governor of this state.

Brenda laughed, a high, strained sound that echoed across the culde-sac. “That’s ridiculous,” she said with disbelief in her voice. The governor lives in the mansion downtown. This house belonged to some Daniel R. Holdings LLC that stopped paying dues. We followed procedure. I raised an eyebrow and spoke quietly.

The R is for Rivas. Daniel Rivas. Her face froze, the color draining from her cheeks as reality began to sink in. The look on her face when she finally put it together. The man she just accused of trespassing in his own home in front of deputies, cameras, and half the culde-sac was almost worth the mess. Almost.

Governor Rivos, the investigator added pointedly, purchased this home 20 years ago. Your HOA’s attempt to seize and sell it was both fraudulent and criminal. Brenda’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a fish gasping for air. Behind her, the buyer, a sweaty guy in a two-tight polo clutching a folder label trustee sale package, whispered nervously, “You said it was some dead investor,” Brenda.

Somewhere down the street, a neighbor muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh, she’s done.” as the cameras zoomed in on Brenda’s face. “My name is Daniel Rivos. Most people know me as Governor Rivos, the guy on the highway billboards asking voters to keep our state moving forward. Silver Brier Preserve knows me as the quiet guy at the end of the culde-sac with the curtains always closed.

Or more recently, the stubborn delinquent owner who wouldn’t answer his mail. 20 years ago, long before politics, I was just a young public defender who’d scraped together enough for a down payment on a modest stucco twotory with an oak tree out front. Silver Brier Preserve was new then.

Fresh sidewalks, shiny playground, an HOA that mainly worried about pool hours and holiday lights. I loved the place deeply. I planted citrus trees, painted the guest room a questionable shade of teal, and hosted exactly two parties before realizing I preferred quiet nights and takeout. When my political career took off, security and practicality meant I had to move into more official quarters.

The old house became my retreat, a place I’d sneak away to a couple of weekends a year to sleep in, mow my own lawn, and remember what normal felt like. My financial adviser transferred the property into a blind trust for ethics compliance. Dues were autopaid. Utilities stayed on low. Curtains stayed drawn.

From the outside, it probably looked like a well-maintained ghost house. Then the old HOA board aged out, and Silver Brier Preserve elected a new president, Brenda Mallerie. Brenda had the ironed bob, the laminated rule book, and the intense, slightly glassy look of someone who believed the phrase architectural harmony belonged in the Constitution.

The first time we met, I was in jeans and a faded college hoodie, loading groceries from a nondescript sedan. I caught her staring at the house like it owed her money. “You’re the caretaker?” she asked with a tone that suggested she already had her suspicions. “Something like that,” I said. She introduced herself. Voice prim with authority.

I’m the president of the HOA. We have standards here. That property has been underutilized. Underutilized? I repeated. Empty houses dragged down values. She sniffed. Well be reviewing its status. I thought it was just HOA posturing. I had no idea she meant it literally. The signs started small.

On one of my rare weekend visits, I found a bright orange violation notice taped to my door. Unapproved window coverings, dash curtains closed 24/7. Community aesthetic concern. I laughed. I took a picture. I stuffed it in a drawer. Next time there were three more. Evidence of under occupation- community engagement expectation not met.

Failure to maintain approved landscaping density. Tree canopy too mature. Suspicious ownership structure- LLC not in alignment with community spirit. That last one made me blink hard. It got weirder with each passing month. My trust administrator called with concern in her voice. Governor, the Silverbrier HOA keeps sending duplicate statements and random fines. We’re paying the regular dues.

The rest look invented. We sent letters. We got boilerplate in return. Then the mail started going missing entirely. Certified notices were refused according to their records, except no one had knocked, and my security cameras had timestamped footage of exactly zero delivery attempts. Brenda began telling neighbors that the investor who owns the corner property was bleeding the community dry by refusing to cooperate.

Under her stewardship, the board adopted some creative interpretations of their foreclosure powers. At the next anonymous trustee sale, a note scribbled in Brenda’s unmistakable loopy handwriting identified my house as long-term delinquent, no known resident, ideal candidate for community reclaim. Her cousin’s LLC just happened to be the winning bidder. $487,000.

On paper, they alleged I owed 36 months of unpaid dues, all actually paid, 18 months of special assessments for projects that never happened, thousands in administrative fees. They did not notify the trust properly. They did not follow state foreclosure procedure. They did, however, change the locks and put a sold flyer in my mailbox.

3 days later, my security detail called with urgency. Governor, someone’s moving furniture into your Silver Brier property. Should we be aware of something? That’s how I found out my house had been sold. The turning point began with a very boring conference call that became very interesting very quickly. My legal counsel, my trust administrator, and my chief of staff were all on the line, scrolling through PDFs, my aid had just emailed over from the county recorder’s office.

On the screen, a sloppy notice of default with my trust’s name misspelled three different ways. A notice of sale taped to a random town home instead of my property, and a trustees deed with a suspiciously familiar notary stamp. None of this is valid, my council said flatly. They didn’t follow the statute at any step. My trust administrator chimed in with evidence.

We have bank records for every dues payment. They literally cash the checks while claiming non-payment. Can they do that? My chief of staff asked. Not legally, council replied firmly. This isn’t an honest mistake. This is a scheme. I thought of Brenda’s earlier comment. will be reviewing its status. Document everything, I said. Every notice, every payment, every timeline, and don’t tell the HOA who owns the house yet.

My security detail did a quiet exterior sweep of the property. New locks, a couple arguing on the porch about backsplash tile, a four rent-luxury updated sign zip tied to the lampost. We pulled the rental listing recently reclaimed from absentee investor. My aid read aloud. Aggressive HOA ensures peaceful community. He looked up expression criminally close to laughter.

Sir, they basically admitted it in the ad. The attorney general’s office perked up at the phrase HOA foreclosure fraud. Governor, we can assign someone to this quietly. The AG told me. We’ve had growing complaints about HO as overstepping their authority. This could be illustrative. I knew what that meant. Case of the year. New legislation.

A chance to put someone like Brenda on every law professor’s what not to do slide. Proceed as if I’m just a private citizen. I said until you absolutely can’t. The AG’s team began investigating thoroughly. They subpoenaed bank records. They interviewed former board members. They requested Brenda’s emails. That was where everything truly broke.

Because Brenda, it turned out, loved to write things down. If we don’t do something about that empty house, buyers will think we tolerate slackers, she wrote to the board. We’re practically doing the state a favor reclaiming it. The owner can always sue us if he’s still alive. LOL. She had joked in writing about flipping the dead investor’s house to someone who appreciates our standards.

The AG investigator forwarded that one to me personally with a single line. You’re going to want to be at the next HOA board meeting. Silver Brier’s Clubhouse had seen its share of drama, heated arguments about holiday inflatables, a nearly violent standoff over a rogue chicken coupe, but nothing like what walked in that night.

Brenda sat at the front table, gavel in hand, lips pursed. Behind her, a banner read silver brier preserved dash extraordinary meeting on community stability. Neighbors filled the chairs, murmuring anxiously. The new owner of my house sat near the front, clutching his trustee deed like a security blanket. I slipped in the back with one plain clothes agent jeans button down baseball cap. Brenda tapped the microphone.

We are here because one of our dear residents has chosen to weaponize lawyers against this board’s good-faith efforts to protect our property values. The room buzzed with tension. As you know, she continued confidently. We legally foreclosed on an abandoned investment property, draining our resources.

Dash, the clubhouse door opened. Three people in suits walked in. Two from the AG’s office, one from the state’s Department of Real Estate. behind them. The county sheriff, Brenda faltered. This is a private dash. Actually, ma’am, corruption investigations are very public, the lead AG investigator said. Everyone, thank you for coming. This won’t take long.

They plugged a laptop into the projector. The first slide popped up, a timeline of payments from my trust to the HOA. Despite receiving every monthly dues payment on time, the investigator narrated, “This board declared the property delinquent.” They then added unauthorized fees and assessments, fabricated votes that never occurred, and forced a sham forclosure sale.

The sham buyer shrank in his seat. Second slide. Excerpts from Brenda’s emails. If we play this right, my cousin gets a deal on the corner house, and we finally get someone who cares about curb appeal. Legal notice is mostly a formality. The owner is probably some hedge fund guy who will never show up.

Third slide, state statute governing HOA foreclosures. Several sections highlighted in angry yellow. You violated each of these in turn. The investigator said you falsified notices, interfered with mail, misapplied payments, and abused your position of trust. Brenda’s gaze darted around the room, searching for a friendly face.

We did what we had to do,” she snapped defensively. “Absentee landlords undermine communities. We were forced to act.” The owner never even showed his face. “Who is this so-called victim?” The AG investigator glanced toward the back row. I took off the baseball cap. For a second, the room didn’t react. Then, the recognition rolled across the crowd like a wave.

Eyes widening, hands flying to mouths, someone whispering. “Oh my god, that’s him.” “Brenda went gray.” “Hi, Brenda,” I said calmly. “Sorry I missed the holiday cookie exchange. Busy running the state you tried to steal real estate from. The power in the room shifted so fast it was almost audible. If the previous moment was the power shift, what happened next was the demolition.

” The AG investigator continued calmly as if the governor casually revealing himself in the back row was an everyday thing. To be clear, he said, we would be pursuing this case with the same vigor if Mr. Rivos were not the governor. But the fact that your victim also happens to oversee the agencies you defrauded certainly doesn’t help your optics. Someone snorted.

Brenda’s voice went shrill. You can’t hold me responsible for a clerical misunderstanding. The board voted. The community supported Dash. A former board member stood up. I quit last year because you tried to get us to sign blank meeting minutes. She said, “You told me no one would ever check.” The AG slid a document onto the projector.

Minutes from a foreclosure authorization meeting that had never happened. These signatures were cut and pasted from another set of minutes, he said. Forensic analysis confirms it. The Department of Real Estate rep chimed in. And this notary stamp on the trustee deed. The notary retired 5 years before this document was signed.

He moved to Arizona. We called him. Lovely garden. By the way, laughter broke out, bitter and delighted. The sheriff stepped forward. Mrs. Mallalerie, please stand, he said. She clutched the table. This is insane. You’re all making a huge mistake. I am protecting this neighborhood. Look at the crime statistics.

Look at the landscaping awards. You’re going to ruin everything over a single house owned by a man who who who bought it 20 years ago, paid every bill, and trusted you not to commit fraud, I said. He added the handcuffs. The charges they read out were a sampler platter of bad life choices, fraudulent conveyance of real property, mail interference, document falsification, breach of fiduciary duty, conspiracy to commit theft by deception.

The buyer got his own stack of paperwork, though his lawyer started yelling victim of misrepresentation loudly enough to suggest a quick plea deal in his future. News cameras weren’t supposed to be there. They were. The clip hit the evening broadcast. HA illegally sells governor’s house. Dash claimed owner was probably dead investor.

They kept replaying the moment Brenda realized who I was. Her face doing a time lapse from smug certainty to full body existential regret. Even the late night shows picked it up. One host joking, “Imagine being drunk on HOA power and accidentally picking the governor as your victim.” Brenda took a plea deal.

no prison, but a criminal record, a restitution order that would devour her savings for years, a lifetime ban from serving on any HOA board, real estate transaction, or position involving fiduciary responsibility. When the judge read the sentence, Brenda’s face turned white, then red, then white again. She stood there frozen, her lawyer’s hand on her shoulder, as the full weight of what she’d done crashed down on her.

The restitution amount alone was $150,000. Her cousin’s investment LLC saw their trustee deed voided like a bad coupon, and they paid a fine large enough to make sure they never touched foreclosure auctions again. The courtroom was silent except for the sound of Brenda crying quietly into her hands.