In the background of a photograph, partially obscured by a gift basket, was a decorative gold-trimmed mirror.
I'd seen it before.
In the HOA president's office.
I stared at the screen.
Then I remembered the framed floral wallpaper behind the mirror, visible during a community newsletter photograph.
My wife looked at me.
"You recognize that room."
I nodded slowly.
"Maybe."
She leaned back.
"Don't jump ahead."
I smiled.
"I wasn't going to."
She gave me a look.
"Yes, you were."
I laughed.
Then I took screenshots of the public listings, including their dates and seller information.
I didn't contact the seller.
I didn't try to arrange a confrontation.
I simply preserved what was publicly available and added it to the growing record.
The pattern was becoming harder to ignore.
But I still needed to know whether the HOA president was taking parcels without permission, or whether the association had some arrangement that homeowners genuinely accepted.
The distinction mattered.
I wasn't interested in accusing someone of theft because I disliked how she treated me.
I wanted to know the truth.
And I wanted evidence strong enough that people couldn't dismiss it as another neighborhood feud.
By early April, the package problem had begun affecting our family in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Our son stopped getting excited when delivery trucks pulled into the neighborhood.
He used to run to the window whenever a box arrived, even when he knew it probably contained something boring like dish soap or replacement printer cartridges. He enjoyed the anticipation of packages, the sound of cardboard opening, and the possibility that something interesting might be inside.
Now he asked whether anyone was going to steal them.
One afternoon, he came home from school carrying a small poster he'd made for a science project. He placed it on the kitchen table, then looked toward the front door.
"Dad?"
I glanced up.
"Yeah?"
"Did my model parts come?"
I checked the tracking information.
"They're supposed to arrive tomorrow."
He nodded.
Then he asked, "Will that lady take them too?"
My chest tightened.
He hadn't seen the HOA president stealing anything directly. But children notice more than adults think, and he'd overheard enough conversations to understand that our missing deliveries weren't ordinary mistakes.
I sat beside him.
"We're working on making sure the deliveries are safe."
He looked toward me.
"Can we just buy things at the store?"
I smiled faintly.
"Sometimes."
He studied the science project.
Then he said, "It's weird that somebody can take something with your name on it."
I nodded.
"Very weird."
He looked up.
"Doesn't she know that's wrong?"
I took a breath.
"I think she does."
He frowned.
"Then why does she do it?"