She described the document as materially broader than a temporary maintenance permit and identified provisions that could affect long-term property rights.
She recommended rejecting it unless the association clearly established the purpose, scope, duration, compensation, insurance responsibilities, and legal authority supporting the request.
I agreed.
Then I wrote to the board.
I attached the proposed agreement and asked whether the directors had approved it.
The secretary responded.
She said the president had described the matter as routine access coordination.
The full agreement hadn't been presented for a formal vote.
Two other directors requested copies.
The president responded angrily.
She insisted that involving the whole board in technical matters would delay important community improvements.
The youngest director, a woman in her early forties who worked as a financial analyst, asked for the development maps.
The president declined.
She said negotiations were confidential.
Then the director asked whether the association would receive compensation in exchange for granting the requested rights.
The president replied that any benefits would be addressed after the agreement was signed.
I read the exchange.
For several seconds, I remained still.
The president was asking me to surrender potential property rights before explaining who would benefit.
And she was refusing to show her own board the underlying project.
Something about that didn't feel like an ordinary neighborhood disagreement.
I began preserving every communication.
Not because I expected a woman in pink pajamas to break into my backyard with a blue bag.
Because I suspected someone was trying to use the HOA as a shortcut around a private property negotiation.
The first unauthorized entry occurred in late April.
I was working in my home office when the motion alert appeared on my phone.
The rear gate had opened.
A woman was standing beside the pool with a camera.
It was the HOA president.
She wore a white blouse and pale trousers.
An unfamiliar man accompanied her, carrying a tablet and a measuring device.
They walked along the pool deck, stopping near the rear fence.
The man appeared to be recording distances.
I opened the patio door.
"What are you doing?"
The president turned.
For a moment, she looked surprised to see me.
Then she smiled.
"Routine drainage inspection."
I looked toward the man.
"Who are you?"
He introduced himself as a project consultant.
I asked who hired him.
He hesitated.
The president answered.
"The association."
I pointed toward the gate.
"You're standing on private property. I haven't authorized this inspection."
The consultant immediately lowered his equipment.
He apologized and said he'd been told access was approved.
I believed him.
He looked genuinely uncomfortable.
The president didn't.
She stepped toward me and began explaining that an HOA president had authority to inspect common drainage infrastructure.