Inside were copies.
County zoning approval.
Installation permit.
Fire inspection certificate.
Installer specifications.
Site sketch.
Daniel removed the folder.
Cynthia rolled her eyes.
“Those documents are irrelevant.”
“No.”
“They concern county regulations.”
“Yes.”
“The HOA can impose additional restrictions.”
“Yes.”
She stopped.
Daniel looked at her.
“I know.”
That was the problem Cynthia always had with Daniel.
He rarely made the arguments she expected.
She wanted someone who insisted county approval overrode HOA covenants automatically.
Then she could explain private restrictions.
She wanted someone emotional.
Then she could call him unreasonable.
Daniel did neither.
He read.
He asked.
He documented.
It infuriated her.
Cynthia pointed at the tank.
“The association has prohibited it.”
“Show me the adopted amendment.”
“I just gave you notice.”
“That's not the amendment.”
“It cites it.”
“I want the minutes.”
“They haven't been distributed.”
“Then I want the signed resolution.”
“It is being prepared.”
“Then the vote record.”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
His voice remained quiet.
“You came onto my driveway and ordered me to remove permitted equipment under a rule you say became effective this morning.”
He tapped the folder.
“I want to see what became effective.”
Cynthia lifted her chin.
“You can request records through the proper process.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Her face shifted.
Daniel had emailed the board secretary five minutes after the meeting ended.
Requesting the official voting result.
Cynthia knew.
“Those records are not instantaneous.”
“Then neither should enforcement be.”
Silence.
That was the exact moment a black-and-white police cruiser turned onto Hawthorne Ridge Drive.
Daniel heard it.
Cynthia saw it.
Her posture changed.
She smiled.
“Good.”
Daniel looked toward the cruiser.
“You called police?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Noncompliance.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That's not a police matter.”
“It becomes one when you refuse lawful instructions.”
“Your instructions aren't law.”
“Tell him.”
“I plan to.”
The cruiser stopped near the driveway entrance.
Officer Ryan Cole stepped out.
Thirty-one.
Dark uniform.
Body camera.
Notebook tucked near his vest.
He looked first at Cynthia.
Then Daniel.
Then the tank.
Then the truck.
His face carried the cautious neutrality of a man who had arrived without enough information and knew it.
“Morning.”
Cynthia walked toward him before he reached the concrete pad.
“Officer.”
She held up the HOA notice.
“Thank you for coming.”
Daniel almost smiled.
As if she had ordered law enforcement the way she ordered landscaping crews.
Officer Cole nodded.
“Dispatch said there was a property dispute.”
“This is not a dispute.”
Cynthia pointed toward Daniel.
“He is knowingly operating prohibited equipment after being instructed to stop.”
Cole looked at Daniel.
Daniel said:
“Morning.”