A few people pulled out their own phones, clearly sensing that this was about to become prime neighborhood drama. "Ashley, call them," I said calmly, stepping away from the wire ball. "I would love for the Naples Police Department to come down here and officially document the hundreds of pounds of hazardous heavy metals the HOA has negligently allowed to fester in a municipal waterway." "You are stealing money from the HOA!" she yelled into the phone, ignoring me. "Yes, 911.
I have a resident in Pelican's Perch who is actively vandalizing the community pond and stealing thousands of dollars of community property. He is aggressive and refusing to leave. I need an officer here immediately." She hung up, glaring at me with a look of absolute triumph. "They are on their way.
You are going to jail. And the HOA is confiscating all of that. She pointed at the wire ball as stolen property. "Ashley," I said leaning over and picking up my 5-gallon bucket. "Do you even know what chapter of the Florida statutes covers found property?"
She scoffed crossing her arms over her chest. "I know that anything on HOA property belongs to the HOA." "Wrong," I said setting the bucket down. "But I'll let the cops explain it to you. I've got time."
We waited. The tension on the grassy bank was thick enough to cut with a machete. Ashley stood by her golf cart, her arms crossed tapping her foot furiously. I stood by my bucket and casually picking a crusty quarter off the giant wire ball and flicking it into the plastic tub. The crowd of neighbors just watched, a silent audience to the greatest administrative showdown in Pelican's Perch history.
About 12 minutes later, a white Naples Police Department SUV rolled slowly down the street. The cruiser pulled over, its light bar flashing a silent pattern of red and blue. Two officers stepped out. One was a younger guy looked like he was fresh out of the academy looking slightly nervous. The other was an older stocky officer with a thick mustache and tired eyes.
He looked like a man who had responded to entirely too many HOA disputes in his career. They walked across the grass, their hands resting loosely on their duty belts. "All right, who called it in?" the older officer asked, his voice a deep, exhausted rumble. I did. Officer, thank God you're here.
Ashley practically sprinted toward them, pointing frantically at me. "This man is violating community rules. He is poaching in a no-fishing zone. He is operating an unlicensed business on community property, and he is actively stealing thousands of dollars that belong to the Pelican's Perch Homeowners Association." The older officer looked at me.
He looked at the massive 1,200-lb magnet. He looked at the orange paracord. Then, he looked at the giant, muddy ball of rusted wire and crusted coins sitting on the grass. He let out a long, heavy sigh. Sir, the officer said to me, can you explain what's going on here?
I smiled politely. "Certainly, officer. I am a licensed subcontractor currently engaged in a free, voluntary hazardous material remediation of this stormwater retention pond, all in accordance with Naples Municipal Ordinance Chapter 54, which mandates the removal of artificial debris from water systems." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my folded, slightly damp master subcontractor agreement. I handed it to the officer.
He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the aggressive letterhead and the ridiculous $1 compensation clause. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mustache. And the fishing? The younger officer asked, looking at Ashley's pink laminated sign in the distance. "Florida Statute 379.101," I replied instantly, locking eyes with Ashley.
"Fishing is strictly defined as the taking of wildlife. As you can see, officers, I am not equipped to catch a fish. I am equipped to catch engine blocks and spare change. Unless the state of Florida recently reclassified quarters as an invasive aquatic species, I am not fishing." The older officer handed my contract back to me.
He turned to Ashley. "Ma'am, he's right about the fishing statute. He doesn't have tackle or bait. This is a civil matter regarding your HOA bylaws, not a criminal poaching issue." But the money!
Ashley shrieked, her voice echoing across the pond. She was losing control of the narrative and it was driving her insane. Look at that. That is thousands of dollars. Those coins were thrown into our pond.
"That makes them HOA property. He is stealing from the association." This was the moment. This was the exact loophole I had spent 3 hours researching the night before. I took a deep breath.
"Actually, officers," I said, my voice cutting through Ashley's hysteria. I would like to formally report the discovery of lost or abandoned property, as required by Florida Chapter 705. Both officers looked at me. Their eyebrows raised in surprise. They knew exactly what I was talking about.
Ashley, however, looked confused. "Chapter 705," I explained, speaking slowly and clearly so the entire crowd of neighbors could hear me. The Florida Statute governing lost and abandoned property. It states that anyone who finds lost or abandoned property must report it to law enforcement. If the rightful owner cannot be found or does not claim the property within 90 days, title to the property vests in the finder.