It started with a crack. Maybe two. Small, quiet, like the whisper of time working against concrete. For decades, people in Florida have made homes out of concrete towers, rising above beaches and boulevards, with names like “Sea Breeze Villas” or “Sunset Palms.” But in 2021, when Champlain Towers South in Surfside crumbled and took 98 lives with it, it wasn’t just a building that fell—it was trust. Trust in the structures themselves. Trust in the people who were supposed to oversee them. And for thousands of condo owners across Florida, it became clear that “home” could be a risk disguised as real estate.
In the aftermath, the state rushed to pass sweeping safety reforms. It made sense. No one wanted to see another Surfside. So the laws changed. Suddenly, buildings over 30 years old—especially three stories or higher—were required to undergo rigorous safety inspections. Milestone inspections, they were called, as if the building itself were growing older like a person, needing a check-up after a certain birthday. And just like that, homeowners who were already struggling with rising insurance, inflation, and property taxes found themselves staring at HOA bills that read more like ransom notes.
People began to panic. Not because they didn’t want safety—no one wants to live above a cracked column or beneath a weakened beam—but because they couldn’t afford it. Some owners, especially retirees on fixed incomes, were faced with the unimaginable: selling their units at a loss or being forced out because they couldn’t cover a special assessment. Imagine paying off your mortgage only to lose your home to a maintenance bill.
That’s the story that state senator Jennifer Bradley heard again and again. People pleading not for a pass on safety, but for fairness. For time. For flexibility. And that’s where HB 913 was born.
The new law, signed by Governor Ron DeSantis this week and set to go into effect July 1, is complicated—but the premise is simple. It tries to balance safety with solvency. It allows condo associations to pool their reserve funds more flexibly. It opens doors to lines of credit, loans, and structured assessments, so that the cost of essential repairs doesn’t have to hit homeowners like a wrecking ball all at once.
It’s not a magic wand. But it’s something.
During a recent press stop in Tampa, DeSantis, who once opposed parts of the earlier safety legislation, admitted the reality: “Some people could be priced out of their condos.” He wasn’t wrong. Realtors are already reporting it. According to Miltiadis Kastanis of Compass Development Marketing Group, many buyers now demand structural inspection reports before even considering an older unit. Buyers, he says, are spooked. They’d rather pay more for a new tower than gamble on an aging one that might come with a secret seven-figure repair bill.
The consequences ripple beyond owners. Entire communities begin to stagnate. Units sit unsold. Maintenance delays compound. And the very idea of “affordable housing” in Florida gets shakier by the day.
But HB 913 doesn’t stop at money. It aims to root out something less visible but equally corrosive: bad actors in condo management. The law now prohibits anyone whose license has been revoked from sneaking back into the system under a new company or as an employee. It requires transparency—online licensing accounts, up-to-date records, public accountability. It’s bureaucratic, yes, but behind every layer of compliance is the hope that fewer shady managers will slip through the cracks.
The goal is simple: to make sure the story of Surfside is never repeated. That the next generation of Floridians living in a condo won’t have to wonder if the ceiling is going to fall—literally or financially.
Of course, laws don’t fix everything. Owners still worry. A couple in Fort Lauderdale recently shared how their HOA fees have doubled in two years. “We used to spend more on dinner than our monthly HOA,” the husband joked. “Now we spend more on the HOA than groceries.” Their building, a 1970s mid-rise, recently got flagged for concrete spalling and rusty rebar. It’s going to cost millions. They don’t know where the money’s going to come from.
But with HB 913, at least there’s a path—however narrow—toward figuring it out.
In the end, it’s about keeping people in their homes without compromising on the one thing that makes a home worth anything at all: safety. Because no one should have to choose between financial ruin and staying alive. And in a state where the sun always shines but the ground can shift without warning, that kind of stability is worth fighting for.