HOA Gave Me 72 Hour Notice to Sell My Ranch—So I Tripled Their Rent Overnight!

They gave me 72 hours to leave my own damn ranch. 72. Tape the notice right to my front gate in bold red letters like I was some trespasser. Not the guy who’s lived and worked that land his whole life. Vacate within 72 hours or face legal removal, it said. And wouldn’t you know it, Judith Harmon, the HOA president, was parked across the field in her little golf cart watching like she just won a poker game. Now, here’s the twist. What Judah didn’t know, and this is my favorite part, is that three days earlier, I finalized the purchase of the land their fancy clubhouse sits on. Pool, tennis courts, the whole HOA’s little empire, all on land I now own through a holding company that I’d set up months ago. Yeah, that happened.

So, I’m standing there coffee in one hand, that eviction notice in the other, and I just stared at her for a second. I didn’t yell, didn’t rant, just pulled out my phone, called my attorney, and said triple the rent effective immediately. He hesitated. You sure you want to go that hard? I said, “They gave me 3 days to get off my own land.

Let’s see how they handle 30 days to pay up or pack out.” But let me back up a sec, cuz this feud didn’t start with one notice. I’m Jack Holloway, third generation rancher just outside Pine Hollow, Texas. Grew up on this land. Watched my granddad run cattle here before HOA was even a word.

And for most of my life, it was peaceful until Judith showed up. She moved in about 5 years ago. Exarketing exec from California retired early and apparently decided her next project was micromanaging an entire community. Within months, she turned the HOA into a miniature government. Citations for everything mailbox not matching community tones fines.

If your lawn wasn’t the exact shade of beige threats for having a gate that clashed with the aesthetic of the neighborhood, and she hated my ranch, said it disrupted the harmony. I told her the cows weren’t going to wear beige just to please her. It started off annoying, then turned personal.

One by one, I started getting letters saying my barn was too close to a nature buffer zone. My fence interrupted visual flow. Even my gate wasn’t up to code. You ever been fined for the color of iron? Now I have. My neighbor Clay works down the road, fixes tractors, and hears everything before it hits. Facebook told me Judith was sniffing around the county records office trying to prove part of my ranch was community reserve land.

It wasn’t. I knew that my granddad had all the paperwork locked in an old steel box under the workbench and I pulled every deed and survey to prove it. She didn’t care. Wasn’t about truth. It was about power. Around that time, I heard rumors the land under the clubhouse might be going up for sale.

Nobody took it seriously, but I did. Quietly bought it through Iron Creek Holdings and LLC with no obvious ties to me. cash deal, clean, legal, and Judith never saw it coming. So, when they taped that eviction letter on my gate, they had no idea their lease was about to expire and their new landlord was me.

I gave her a day to stew in her little victory, then walked into town and dropped off the new lease, tripled rent, due in 30 days. That’s when things blew up. The community Facebook group went wild. Why is there a rent notice on the pool? Why is Judith crying? Is this even legal? Next night, someone cut my fence.

Three figures in hoodies trying to scare off the cattle. Clay and I jumped in the truck, chased them down. Caught one Brian, HOA secretary, the guy who always sat in meetings scribbling notes like Judith’s personal court scribe. He was panting scared. Said Judith told them to scare me. That’s all. Just scare me. I took his picture, called the sheriff, and watched him get cuffed while trying to shift all the blame onto Judith.

I didn’t need revenge. I needed truth. Then came the firebomb. 2 days later, someone tossed a Molotov through the HOA office window. Clay and I saw the smoke from my porch raced over with extinguishers and knocked it down before it spread too far. As the smoke cleared, Judith stormed up like I lit the match myself.

This is your fault, she screamed. I told her, “I didn’t start this, but I’ll damn well finish it.” Sheriff Mallister started digging. We pulled footage from my workshop camera, and there he was. Judith’s son, Tyler, sneaking in at 2:14 a.m., broke in through a window, stole a folder from my drawer, one that held proof of Judith embezzlement, and forged board minutes.

Gone. And we both knew he didn’t come up with that on his own. That’s when I said, “Enough’s enough.” I organized a town hall, rented the high school gym, brought in a projector, and laid it all out. Video footage bank records every fake citation Judith ever issued, showed them how she funneled over 15,000 from HOA dues into a consulting fund in her name.

When I played the clip of Tyler breaking into my workshop, the room went still. Then Lily, the librarian, sweet lady, always quiet, stood up and said, “I move. We removed Judith Harmon as HOA president. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s when Judith stormed in, grabbed the mic, eyes blazing, and screamed, “You think you’ve won? I built this community.

” And then Lily again, dead calm. “Then where’s the money, Judith?” To Sheriff Mallister, “Ma’am, you’re under arrest.” She spat one last threat over her shoulder. My son won’t let this go. As they cuffed her and walked her out. Next morning, I found a plain envelope on my porch. Inside were three photos.

One of me at the town hall, one standing outside my gate, and one taken from the woods, of me sitting on my porch drinking coffee. Someone was watching me. Yeah, that got under my skin. A day later, the barn caught fire. We lost it all. Rooftools, supplies, but the animals were safe. Sheriff found the charred remains of an ignition device and tire tracks out back.

Same night, my granddad’s grave was vandalized. Spray paint, ugly words, burn with your barn. Clay found me there the next morning on my knees scrubbing at red paint with my sleeve. That night, Susan, one of the old board members who never liked Judith, showed up with a folder. Everything Judith had tried to hide the meeting transcripts, the hidden lease, and one last gem of private bank transfer into her account.

That was the hammer. Two days later, we held an emergency election. Clay, Susan, and I ran. Tyler didn’t. Just stood in the back arms crossed chewing gum like some bad movie villain. We won every seat. Town cheered. People clapped. Some even cried. But as I stepped out to my truck there, it was a bullet on the hood taped to a note. You took my mother down.

Now I take everything from you. Then came the lawsuit. Tyler sued me for fraudulent land acquisition, trespassing, emotional distress. Yeah, emotional distress from the guy who firebombed a barn. But the thing is, folks were done with him. Local reporter picked up the story, wrote a piece called The Truth Beneath Pine Hollow.

It went viral. By the time we reached court, the judge had read it, watched the video, seen the evidence, looked up from the bench, and said, “Motion to dismiss granted.” Later that night, I sat at my granddad’s grave, fresh flowers at the base paint long since scrubbed off. There was a card. Thank you for raising a man who doesn’t quit.

I just sat there for a while watching the sun go down, listening to the wind in the trees. Clay pulled up with two cold beers. We clinkedked bottles and watched the porch lights come on across town. The land was quiet again. The clubhouse, they pay me rent tripled, like I said, in the HOA. Well, they’re under new management now.

But let me ask you something. What would you have done if your own neighbors turned on you? If the system got hijacked by power- hungry folks hiding behind rules, would you fight back or walk away? Let me know in the comments. And if you’ve ever dealt with a nightmare HOA or someone drunk on control, like, share, and subscribe.

Trust me, I’ve got more stories.