Sat at my kitchen table.
Then placed a folder in front of me.
"I think the president is lying to us."
I looked at him.
"About what?"
"The landscaping project."
My pulse quickened.
He opened the folder.
Inside were HOA financial statements.
Board meeting agendas.
Vendor invoices.
Copies of email correspondence.
He pointed toward a payment.
Forty-two thousand dollars.
Preliminary design services.
Another.
Twenty-eight thousand.
Site preparation.
Another.
Nineteen thousand five hundred.
Landscape procurement deposit.
I frowned.
"Has any work been completed?"
"Not that I can see."
He nodded toward the documents.
"That's the problem."
He explained that the HOA president had requested emergency budget flexibility, claiming the project needed to move quickly before the rainy season.
The board approved preliminary spending.
But when the treasurer asked for detailed vendor documentation, the president delayed.
Then she insisted the materials were confidential.
"Confidential from the treasurer?" I asked.
He nodded.
"That's what bothered me."
I examined the documents.
Some invoices were vague.
Others described services that appeared duplicative.
The company names varied slightly.
But several shared mailing addresses or contact numbers.
I looked up.
"Have you raised this with the board?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
He gave a bitter laugh.
"She accused me of undermining community unity."
I almost smiled.
"Sounds familiar."
He leaned forward.
"Then she told everyone you're refusing to cooperate with an approved county project."
I stared.
"What?"
He nodded.
"She says your property is actually part of a common-area reserve that was mistakenly excluded from an old survey."
I sat back.
That was new.
"Did she provide evidence?"
"She showed a map."
"The one with the trail expansion?"
"Probably."
I opened my laptop.
Showed him the proposal.
He nodded.
"That's it."
I brought up the recorded parcel map beside it.
He studied both.
Then frowned.
"Those lines aren't the same."
"No."
He looked at me.
"How much land is she claiming?"