Then I checked the wooden gate.
Its latch was intact.
The hinges were solid.
And the lock worked properly.
I considered installing an additional latch higher up, but decided against making unnecessary changes before discussing the matter with my attorney.
Instead, I placed a small, professionally printed sign near the entrance.
Private Property. No Unauthorized Entry.
The words were plain.
There was no threat.
No mention of Patricia.
Just a clear reminder that the backyard belonged to the owner of the house.
Three days later, the sign disappeared.
I found it in my landscaping bed, bent almost in half.
The camera showed a person approaching the gate from outside, but the individual's face wasn't clear enough to identify.
I saved the recording.
Photographed the damaged sign.
And filed a report through the appropriate nonemergency channel.
I did not accuse Patricia.
But I began paying closer attention.
Something was changing.
The dispute no longer felt like ordinary HOA hostility.
It felt personal.
And perhaps dangerous.
The next clue came from the property manager's former bookkeeper.
I didn't know her.
She called my business office one afternoon and asked to speak with me privately.
At first, I thought she was a customer.
Then she explained that she had previously worked with the company managing Cedar Ridge Estates.
She had seen my public questions at the association meeting.
And she wanted to clarify something about the emergency pool charges.
I was cautious.
I asked whether she was comfortable identifying herself.
She was.
Her name was Melissa Ford.
She was fifty-one and had worked in accounting and association administration for nearly twenty years.
She had left the management company the previous autumn.
Not because of the pool incidents, she said.
Because she had become uncomfortable with how certain board expenses were handled.
We met at a coffee shop near my office.
I chose a public place.
Brought my notebook.
And told her I would not ask her to disclose information she was legally prohibited from sharing.
She appreciated that.
Then she opened her own folder.
It contained correspondence she was entitled to retain and notes she had written during her employment.
She began by explaining how emergency vendor charges were supposed to move through the association's accounting process.
A service request.
Authorization.
Work performed.
Invoice review.
Payment approval.
Then, if permitted by the governing documents and applicable procedures, any appropriate chargeback to a homeowner.
I understood.
The process wasn't unusual.
But Melissa said certain pool jobs appeared to move backward.
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She looked toward her notes.
"Sometimes the contractor's scheduling record appeared before the homeowner complaint."
I went still.
"How much earlier?"
"It varied."
She hesitated.
"I noticed one job that had been entered the previous afternoon."
I stared.