Inside were financial summaries, board correspondence, and several meeting notes he had retained in the ordinary course of his duties.
He pointed toward one page.
“There's something you need to understand.”
I leaned forward.
The document listed payments for the clubhouse renovation.
Pool improvements.
Landscaping.
Irrigation.
And technical services.
He tapped the water-system line.
“The original contractor warned that some of the modifications required further evaluation.”
I stared.
“When?”
He gave me the date.
It was months before the librarian's garage fire.
My stomach tightened.
He continued.
“The president said the concerns were temporary and would be addressed during final commissioning.”
I looked toward him.
“Were they?”
The treasurer shook his head.
“Not properly documented.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he looked down.
“After the first report raised concerns, another company was hired.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“The president said we needed an independent opinion.”
I nodded.
“That can be reasonable.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward me.
“But when the second evaluation raised questions too, she told us the findings were being misunderstood.”
I leaned back.
The treasurer continued.
“She said the public water service was fine. That there wasn't enough evidence of an urgent hazard. That the contractor would correct everything.”
I looked toward the papers.
“Did the board approve the repairs?”
His expression changed.
For several seconds, he stared at his coffee.
Then whispered, “Not the full work.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
He looked up.
“Money.”
The word seemed to fill the space between us.
He continued.
“The renovation was already over budget. Reserves were lower than we'd planned. A major infrastructure repair would've required a special assessment.”
I nodded slowly.
He swallowed.
“The president promised homeowners we wouldn't raise fees.”
I stared.
“So the board deferred the repairs?”
The treasurer nodded.
“Some work was done. But not everything the engineers recommended.”
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked whether the board had been told the system might not meet fire-protection requirements.
He looked toward the window.
“Yes.”
I felt anger rising.
He continued quickly.
“But they said it wasn't an immediate emergency. They said the system still had capacity.”
I took a breath.
“Who said that?”
He hesitated.
Then answered.
“The contractor.”
I stared.
He looked toward the folder.
“And the president.”
We sat in silence.
The treasurer's hands trembled.
Then he whispered, “I should've pushed harder.”
I looked toward him.
He continued.
“I asked for another meeting. I wanted the engineer to explain the report directly.”
His voice broke.
“But I let her convince me it could wait.”