The good folks of Somerset Park recently awoke to find their neighborhood transformed into a scenic wetland, a real-life Everglades experience right in the heart of Henderson, courtesy of a water system in its final death throes. As residents waded through their driveways and watched air bubbles belch ominously from the asphalt, they turned to their homeowner’s association, that noble institution dedicated to collecting their hard-earned money in exchange for the privilege of being told what color they could paint their front doors.
The HOA piggy bank, expected to hold a respectable sum for emergencies, contained little more than pocket lint and good intentions. With $62,000 in reserve—about enough to buy a nice used sedan but not nearly enough to fix a failing water system—the association found itself in dire straits.
Naturally, one might ask: Where had all the money gone? Had it been spirited away to fund a vast underground tunnel system for the neighborhood’s gophers? Spent on gold-plated pool skimmers? Or had it vanished into the void, like meeting minutes and accountability tend to do?
With 85 families at risk of their homes becoming houseboats, the City of Henderson graciously stepped in with nearly $700,000 to keep the neighborhood from becoming Nevada’s first planned amphibious community. Meanwhile, Somerset Park residents were left scratching their heads and wondering why, after decades of dutifully paying their dues, their “savings” amounted to little more than three times the price of a moderately enthusiastic wedding.
The saga of Somerset Park is but one chapter in the ongoing epic of Nevada’s HOA system, a bureaucratic wonderland in which 600,000 residents pay their dues with the expectation of order, only to find themselves starring in an unfolding financial mystery. Recent reports have detailed nightmarish assessment hikes of up to 160 percent, leading many to conclude that while death and taxes may be definite, HOA fees remain the greater enigma.
One of the many delightful quirks of this system is that while HOAs are legally required to conduct and submit reserve studies to the Nevada Real Estate Division (NRED), the agency overseeing them boasts a total of one auditor for the entire state. Yes, one lonely soul wading through the financial muck of 3,800 associations, no doubt equipped with a magnifying glass, a quill pen, and a deep sense of existential dread.
Will Bradley, a retired Army officer and self-described whistleblower, learned that asking too many questions about reserve funds is a great way to get yourself uninvited from HOA meetings—or, in his case, forcibly removed from the board. His concern? HOA reserves are about as well-funded as a lemonade stand in January.
“I want to see it in writing,” he said, demanding proof that his neighborhood’s reserve funds weren’t just a collection of IOUs and wishful thinking.
The experts—those weary souls who study the arcane rituals of HOA governance—suggest that homeowners attend meetings, review budgets, and ask about reserve balances. Sage advice–though equivalent to suggesting that passengers on a sinking ship take a greater interest in the allocation of lifeboats.
Meanwhile, Heritage Management Group, the company tasked with overseeing Somerset Park’s finances, is now facing accusations of embezzlement in multiple communities. It’s shocking for anyone unfamiliar with the rich tradition of HOA mismanagement.
In the end, if you live in an HOA, your financial future may well be in the hands of people who think “fiduciary responsibility” is bottled water. And if you’re wondering whether your association is on the verge of financial collapse, you might consider investing in a good pair of waders—just in case.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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