Yet payments were already being issued.
Some were connected to transportation arrangements the directors had never authorized.
Rosa reached for her phone.
"We need counsel to review this before anybody moves another dollar."
Pamela was at home when she learned the association's financial records were being examined.
Dylan sat across from her at the kitchen table, tapping nervously on his phone.
The bright-pink blazer she'd worn during the confrontation hung over a dining chair. Her expensive white heels were abandoned beneath the table, and a half-finished cup of tea had gone cold.
She looked exhausted.
Dylan didn't seem particularly concerned about her.
He was worried about the Mustang.
"The promoter wants an answer by Monday."
Pamela stared at him.
"Are you seriously still talking about that car?"
He looked offended.
"What else am I supposed to talk about?"
"Police came to his house, Dylan."
"Because he called them!"
Pamela shook her head.
"Because we tried to arrange something without his consent."
For a moment, Dylan looked surprised.
Then he leaned forward.
"You're the one who said the HOA could make him cooperate."
She glared.
"And you're the one who accepted money before asking the owner."
Dylan stood abruptly.
"Don't put this all on me!"
Pamela slapped her palm against the table.
"Lower your voice."
He stared.
For several seconds, the mother and son faced each other in silence.
Then Dylan spoke quietly.
"If I lose this deal, I owe money I don't have."
Pamela swallowed.
"How much?"
He hesitated.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Dylan."
He finally named an amount.
Twenty-eight thousand dollars.
Pamela felt the room shift.
She had known about an advance payment, but not the full amount of his obligations.
"Twenty-eight thousand?"
Dylan looked away.
"Some of it was spent on event preparation."
"How much is left?"
He didn't answer.
Pamela stood.
"Dylan, how much?"
His voice became barely audible.
"About four thousand."
She stared at him.
For one terrible moment, she understood what she'd been doing.
She wasn't protecting her son from an unfair homeowner.
She was helping him conceal a financial problem he'd created through promises he couldn't honor.
Then Dylan said something worse.
"The sponsor wants proof that the car was committed. If I can't provide it, they might accuse me of lying."
Pamela looked toward the association paperwork scattered across the table.
For months, she'd been trying to turn an unauthorized promise into an official obligation.
Now she understood that no amount of confidence could change the truth.