I Let HOA Build 50 Luxury Cabins — Then I Revealed I Own the Only Access Road!

The property had sat empty for 15 years. It was 200 acres of pristine mountain land, beautiful in its abandonment, and belonged to my family, though the title was so old and the ownership so distant that most people have forgotten it existed at all. I was the great grandson of the original owner, and I’d spent my entire adult life watching this land sit and use while the world built around it.

Then Richard Castleton arrived. He was a developer behind Ridgemont Peak Resort, a luxury vacation property project that promised to transform a mountain region into a destination for wealthy tourists and second home buyers. He approached me in 2019 with an offer. He wanted to build 50 luxury cabins on land adjacent to my family’s property.

He was prepared to pay well for my cooperation, which he explained delicately involved allowing the construction vehicles to use my access road. My access road was the only viable route to property. It was a 7mi private drive that had been maintained by my family for decades, winding through mountain terrain that made any other route prohibitively expensive.

Richard needed it. He couldn’t build his resort without it. I’ll pay you $50,000, he said, sitting in my office with a confident of man who’d never heard the word no. I’ll think about it, I replied. I did think about it. And then I did something that would turn out to be one of the most satisfying decisions of my life.

I said yes, but I didn’t just say yes to $50,000. I negotiated. I got him to $150,000 for the use of my road during construction. I got him to agree that the road would remain private property in my name with the cabin owners having perpetual easement rights. I got him to pay for all maintenance and repair costs in perpetuity.

and I got him to sign it all in writing with a specific clause that if he ever violated the terms, my right to revoke access would be immediate and permanent. Richard signed everything without hesitation. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he wanted this land developed. My road was a small price to pay for a 200 acre resort project that would make him millions.

Construction began in the spring of 2020. For the next 2 years, I watched as 50 luxury cabins rose from a mountain landscape. They were beautiful. I had to admit that each one cost between $1.20 and $1.8 million. They had floor to ceiling windows, stone fireplaces, heated outdoor pools, and views that made you understand why people would pay that much money for a mountain getaway.

The resort was stunning. By 2022, it was complete. Richard had made his fortune. The HOA for Ridgemont Peak Resort was established, and a man named Gregory Walsh became president. The cabin sold quickly, mostly to wealthy investors and executives from the city who wanted a place to escape on weekends.

“Everything was perfect for exactly 3 months. Then Gregory Walsh called me. We like to discuss the road,” he said, his tone suggesting this was a friendly chat between neighbors. “What about it?” I asked. It needs maintenance. Significant maintenance. The wear from construction was extensive. We believe you should cover the costs or we’ll be forced to charge all residents a special assessment to cover it.

I pulled out the agreement I’d had Richard sign. The agreement clearly states that the HOA is responsible for all maintenance costs in perpetuity. That agreement is between you and Richard Castleton. Gregory said, “Richard has devested himself of the property. He sold it to our HOA collective. That agreement no longer applies.

That agreement applies to whoever owns the property,” I said carefully. “It’s binding on all successor parties. We’re going to need a copy of that agreement,” Gregory said. I sent it to him. Two weeks passed. Then Gregory called again, and his tone had changed entirely. “We’ve had our lawyers review the agreement,” he said. and I could hear barely concealed fury in his voice.

It appears you have us in a binding contract regarding road maintenance. I do, I confirmed. Our residents are extremely upset about the condition of the road. The potholes are unacceptable. We’re demanding you bring it up to resort quality standards immediately. I am not your resort. I said, I’m the owner of a private road. The agreement specifies that the HOA maintains it.

If you’re not maintaining it, that’s your failure, not mine. The residents have paid nearly $60 million for these properties, Gregory said, his voice rising. They expect a certain standard. We’re prepared to take legal action. Go ahead, I interrupted. Sue me, then I’ll counter sue for breach of contract regarding the easement agreement, and then I’ll revoke your access entirely. The phone went quiet.

You can’t do that, Gregory finally said. Actually, I can. The agreement has a clause that allows me to revoke access if the HOA violates the terms. You violated the maintenance terms. I have legal grounds to revoke access. I hung up. What happened next was spectacular to witness. The HOA held an emergency meeting.

I heard about it through a neighbor who’d gotten wind of the drama. Apparently, the residents were panicking. Their $60 million in property investments suddenly seemed a lot less valuable if they couldn’t access their cabins. The only road in and out of the resort was my road, and I just suggested I might close it. Gregory tried a different approach.

He sent me a formal letter stating that the HOA would take over full maintenance of the road immediately and would pay all costs. He attached photographs of their work crew standing ready to begin repairs. I didn’t respond for 3 days. Then I sent my own letter signed and notorized stating that I was satisfied with their commitment to maintenance and that access would remain open.

I also included my bill for the damage assessment I’d had done on the road which total $47,000. I gave them 30 days to pay. They paid in 17 days. But here’s where it gets really interesting. About 6 months after the road crisis, I receive a call from Richard Castleton. He sounded uncomfortable.

I wanted to reach out, he said carefully, because I heard through the grapevine that there’s been some tension with the HOA. There was I said it’s resolved. I just wanted you to know, Richard continued, that I deliberately sold you into that situation. I mean, I sold the property knowing you had them trapped with that road agreement.

I thought it was clever, but hearing how they panicked. Hearing that they nearly lost everything because they couldn’t access their property, I felt like I should apologize. You were kinder to me than I would have been in your position. I wasn’t sure what to say. Richard had spent 2 years building an empire on that land, and he’d walked away a multi-millionaire.

I’d walked away knowing I had leverage over his creation. We both gotten what we wanted, but his conscience apparently weighed on him. I appreciate that. I finally said, “Do you know what the funniest part is?” Richard continued, “The residents don’t know.” Gregory Walsh kept it quiet because he was embarrassed.

They have no idea how close they came to being trapped at the bottom of a mountain with no way out. They have no idea that the man who owns their only access road could shut them down at any moment. After we hung up, I thought about that. The residents of Ridgemont Peak Resort had paid between $1.20 and $1.8 million each for their cabins.

They had made an enormous investment. And not a single one of them knew that their entire investment depended on me being reasonable. I could have been unreasonable. I could have demanded exorbitant maintenance payments. I could have shut the road down entirely. I could have held them hostage to my whims.

But I didn’t because I’m not a bully and because controlling people through fear and leverage wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was simple. To prove that you can’t just walk over people and assume they don’t have power. Gregory Walsh had approached me with contempt. Assuming that because I was just the owner of a road, I was somehow beneath him.

His $60 million development, his luxury cabins, his resort. He’d forgotten that luxury doesn’t mean anything if you can’t access it. 5 years later, the road remains in perfect condition. The HOA pays for maintenance without complaint. The residents of Ridgemont Peak Resort enjoy their luxury cabins, completely unaware of the legal strangle hold their entire community sits under.

And I hold the deed to the only way in or out. It’s not a power I use. It’s not a threat I make. It’s simply a fact that exists like gravity. It exists because I was patient enough to let them build something beautiful and smart enough to understand what leverage actually means. Gregory Walsh lost his position as HOA president two years later, replaced by someone more reasonable.

The new president, a woman named Susan, actually reached out to me personally to thank me for my restraint during the road crisis. as it had become known. Most people would have destroyed us. She said, “Most people wouldn’t have understood what they had.” I replied, “The access road is now the most maintained 7mi stretch of mountain road in the state.

Every pothole is filled immediately. Every crack is sealed within days. The residents of Ridgemont Peak Resort have the smoothest, safest drive to their luxury cabins. And I smile every time I think about the day Gregory Walsh learned that sometimes the most valuable thing isn’t what you build. It’s what you own that everyone else needs.

Power, I learned, isn’t about using it. It’s about having it and choosing to be reasonable. That choice, that restraint, is what separates people who truly have power from people who are just bullies with temporary leverage. I let them build their resort. I let them become successful. I let them feel important and wealthy and significant.

And in doing so, I ensured they would never forget who actually held all the cards. The access road remains open. It will remain open as long as the HOA honors the agreement. And if they ever forget, if they ever become greedy or demanding or disrespectful again, they’ll remember exactly what it means to have their only connection to the world in someone else’s hands.

That’s a lesson worth learning.