“Now they're threatening further action.”
Natalie sat down.
“Did they give you a hearing or a way to dispute the charges?”
Peter nodded toward the folder.
“I wrote three times. They kept telling me the president's safety determination was final.”
Michael looked at the dates.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then Peter said something that made the entire situation feel different.
“Helen's been worried sick.”
His voice broke slightly.
“She thinks we're going to lose our house over a fire pit we haven't used.”
Michael looked up.
“Mr. Whitcomb.”
The older man shook his head.
“I know that sounds dramatic.”
“It doesn't.”
Peter stared.
Michael continued.
“You deserve an explanation, and you deserve to know whether those charges are valid.”
Peter looked toward Natalie.
For a moment, his eyes filled.
“We've lived here twenty-two years.”
He swallowed.
“I never thought we'd be afraid to open the mailbox.”
Michael felt anger rising.
Not the explosive anger he'd experienced when Evelyn ruined the barbecue.
Something colder.
More focused.
Because now he was looking at two elderly neighbors frightened by paperwork they didn't understand, charges they hadn't agreed to, and the possibility of financial consequences they couldn't easily afford.
He asked Peter's permission to make copies of the notices for the independent review, while the originals remained with their owner.
Then he contacted Grace.
She listened carefully.
When he finished, she became quiet.
“Michael.”
“Yes?”
“I think there are more.”
His stomach tightened.
“How many?”
“I don't know yet.”
She took a breath.
“But I've received calls from five other households since Saturday.”
Michael closed his eyes.
For a moment, he thought about Evelyn's expression when Officer Harris checked the dispatch time.
The fear.
The anger.
And the way she tried to stop CedarShield's representative from answering questions.
It was beginning to make sense.
If Evelyn could manufacture the appearance of violations, she could justify more inspections.
More invoices.
More fees.
And more authority.
But Michael still didn't understand who benefited financially.
That answer would emerge from a detail so ordinary that nobody thought to examine it during the first year of Evelyn's presidency.
A mailing address.
The HOA's special board meeting was held on a Thursday evening in the community room of a local library.
The room wasn't impressive.
Folding chairs.
Fluorescent lights.
A long table near the front.
And a faded bulletin board covered with announcements about school activities and city programs.
But the meeting attracted more residents than any HOA gathering in recent memory.
Nearly seventy homeowners attended.
Some carried folders.
Others brought printed emails.
Several had questions about charges they'd received.
Evelyn arrived early.
She wore an expensive cream-colored blazer, black trousers, large gold earrings, and the same expression of authority she usually displayed during meetings.