I looked toward the front door.
That was the question I'd been asking for weeks.
I didn't know the answer yet.
But I was increasingly certain that money was part of it.
My wife and I discussed the situation for several evenings.
She wanted to make sure we didn't become so focused on catching the thief that we made ourselves miserable. She was right. I'd spent hours organizing delivery records, reviewing camera footage, and responding to HOA emails, and the dispute was beginning to occupy more of our family life than I liked.
One night, she closed my laptop.
I looked up.
"What?"
She nodded toward the clock.
"It's almost midnight."
"I know."
"You've been looking at those videos since dinner."
I sighed.
"I'm trying to find a pattern."
She sat beside me.
"And when you find it?"
"I'll take it to the police."
She nodded.
"Good."
Then she looked at the screen.
"But you already have evidence that somebody has been taking your deliveries. You don't have to solve the entire neighborhood's mystery by yourself."
I leaned back.
"Several people have lost money."
"I know."
"Some paid the HOA for protection."
"I know that too."
I looked toward her.
She continued.
"But you're my husband before you're an investigator."
I smiled faintly.
"Technically, I'm not an investigator."
"Then stop acting like the only one in town."
I laughed.
She placed her hand over mine.
"Handle this properly. Report what you know. Preserve the evidence. But don't let that woman steal your evenings too."
The words stayed with me.
I realized that the president had already taken enough.
Packages.
Time.
Peace of mind.
And now, if I wasn't careful, the ordinary pleasure of living in our home.
So I changed my approach.
I organized everything I'd collected into a clear record.
The delivery confirmations.
The camera footage.
The correspondence.
The statements neighbors had voluntarily shared.
And the public resale listings that might be relevant.
Then I submitted the material to the investigating officer handling the reports.
I also consulted an attorney about the HOA's claimed parcel authority and the retaliatory notices I'd received.
After that, I tried to return to ordinary life.
I still watched the cameras.
I still kept receipts.
But I stopped spending every evening trying to imagine what the president would do next.
The next important piece of evidence came from a place I hadn't expected.
An HOA treasurer who was beginning to question where the association's money had gone.
The treasurer called me after the monthly board meeting.
She was a retired accountant in her sixties who had lived in Willow Brook Estates since the development opened. I knew her vaguely from neighborhood events, but we'd never had a long conversation.