She asked whether I could meet her at the community clubhouse the following afternoon.
I agreed.
When I arrived, she was sitting alone at a small table near the windows.
A folder rested in front of her.
She looked tired.
"Thank you for coming."
I sat down.
"Of course."
She folded her hands.
"I've been hearing complaints about the package program."
I nodded.
"There are several."
She looked toward the folder.
"More than you know."
I waited.
She continued.
"The president keeps telling the board that the service has been very successful."
I frowned.
"Successful how?"
"She says dozens of households are enrolled."
I thought about the brochure.
"The monthly fee isn't cheap."
The treasurer nodded.
"That's part of my concern."
She opened the folder.
Inside was a summary of association expenditures, including payments related to the parcel protection service. Some of the numbers were larger than I expected.
I leaned forward.
"That's a lot of money for moving boxes around."
She gave a tired smile.
"Exactly."
I looked at the payment descriptions.
There were line items for secure collection, temporary storage, inventory processing, administrative coordination, and loss-prevention services.
The vendor name was unfamiliar.
I looked toward her.
"Who owns the company?"
She shook her head.
"That's what I've been trying to establish."
I frowned.
"How does the board approve payments without knowing who the vendor is?"
She sighed.
"Some of the contracts were signed before I took over as treasurer. The president says they were approved under an earlier budget authorization."
I studied the figures.
There were regular monthly payments.
Then occasional larger invoices.
I noticed one entry marked Unclaimed Property Processing.
"What does that mean?"
The treasurer looked uncomfortable.
"Apparently, items that remain in storage beyond a certain period can be designated for disposal."
I stared.
"Disposal?"
She nodded.
"That's what the invoices say."
I looked at her.
"Who decides whether something is unclaimed?"
She spread her hands.
"I've been asking that question."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I pointed toward the vendor information.
"May I ask why you're showing me this?"
She took a breath.
"Because the association keeps saying the program is protecting residents, but I can't get a clear inventory of what was collected, where it was stored, or how it was returned."
I nodded slowly.
She continued.
"And now residents are telling me their packages disappeared even though they weren't enrolled."
I looked toward the window.
The community clubhouse stood less than half a mile from my house.
If the president had really been operating a legitimate receiving service, the records should have been straightforward.
Packages collected.
Owners identified.
Storage locations recorded.