I bought some lures I didn’t need and asked him casually if he’d noticed much traffic up by my place over the summer.
“Oh yeah,” Carl said, not even looking up from his register. “Your cousin’s been bringing folks up pretty regular. Every couple weekends. Looks like different trucks each time.”
Every couple weekends.
I felt that land in my chest like a stone.
I asked if he’d noticed anything else.
Carl scratched his jaw and said, “One of the groups was out on the dock real late, maybe 3 weeks back. Sounded like they’d had a few. I could hear them from my porch, and I’m a quarter mile down.”
I thanked Carl, bought a bag of jerky I also didn’t need, and drove home.
That night, I told my girlfriend Lena what was happening.
She sat on the kitchen counter and listened without interrupting, which is one of the things I like most about her.
When I finished, she said, “So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to talk to your dad?”
“Talking to my dad is like talking to a wall that apologizes.”
She almost smiled.
“Fair.”
I spent the next few days thinking it through.
The obvious move was to confront Travis, demand he stop, maybe threaten legal action.
But the problem with obvious moves is that they give people time to reposition.
Travis would deny it or minimize it.
Diane would frame me as overreacting.
Dad would mumble something about keeping the peace.
And in 2 months, Travis would be right back at it.
I was still figuring out my approach when I got the phone call that changed everything.
It came on a Tuesday morning.
I was at my desk at work reviewing a boundary survey for a new subdivision when my phone rang.
The number was local, but I didn’t recognize it.
“Is this Cody Harmon?”
A woman’s voice, professional, but with an edge.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Patricia Egan. I’m an attorney. I represent a client named Derek Voss. Does that name mean anything to you?”
It didn’t. I told her so.
“Mr. Voss was a guest at a lakeside property on Blackwell Lake the weekend of August 3rd. He sustained an injury on the dock. A railing gave way, and he fell approximately 6 feet onto rocks below the waterline. He fractured two ribs and dislocated his shoulder.”
I sat up so fast my chair rolled back into the filing cabinet.
“He was told the property belonged to a Travis Harmon,” she continued. “But our title search shows the owner is Cody Harmon. That’s you.”
I’m going to be honest.
My first thought wasn’t about the lawsuit.
My first thought was the dock railing.
The one Travis’s friends cracked. The one I’d repaired myself in October.
But that was October.
This injury happened in August.
Which meant Travis was bringing people out to my property while knowing there was a damaged railing and doing absolutely nothing about it.
“Ma’am,” I said carefully. “I need to ask you something. How did Mr. Voss come to be at that property?”
“He paid your cousin for a weekend stay. He has the Venmo receipt.”
Of course he did.
“I’d like to be transparent with you,” I said. “I didn’t authorize anyone to rent that property. I wasn’t aware anyone was using it. Travis is my cousin, not the owner, and he didn’t have my permission to host guests or collect money.”
There was a pause.
“Can you document that?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I see. Mr. Harmon, I’m going to suggest we schedule a conversation. This may change the direction of my client’s claim.”
After we hung up, I sat at my desk for a long time.
I’m a civil engineer.
I understand liability.