I wanted it to remain that way.
I wasn't interested in becoming a hero.
I wasn't trying to expose some enormous conspiracy for attention.
I just wanted to live in my own home without being harassed.
But I was beginning to understand that Patricia's behavior might not stop unless someone forced the facts into daylight.
The next two weeks brought more pressure.
A notice about an unauthorized pool feature.
A warning concerning landscaping near the side gate.
A claim that my backyard equipment might be creating noise outside permitted hours.
Each allegation was vague.
Each required time to answer.
Patricia also began appearing near my property.
Once, I saw her SUV parked across the street while I returned from work.
Another time, she stood on the public sidewalk photographing my fence.
I didn't approach her.
I documented the dates and preserved the relevant camera footage.
Then, on a Wednesday evening, she appeared at the front door.
I opened it with the security screen still closed.
She wore a white blouse, pale trousers, and the same enormous sunglasses.
"Mr. Reed."
"Mrs. Holloway."
She held a clipboard.
"We need to inspect your swimming pool."
I looked toward her.
"Who is we?"
"The association."
"Under what authority?"
Her expression tightened.
"Under our governing documents."
"Which section?"
She sighed.
"Are you going to argue about every word?"
"I'm asking a reasonable question."
She stepped closer.
"Your pool has been reported as a hazard."
"By whom?"
"That's confidential."
"Has anybody inspected it?"
She hesitated.
"Not yet."
"Then how do you know it's hazardous?"
Her cheeks flushed.
She pointed toward me.
"You're making this very difficult."
I kept my voice calm.
"If you have a lawful basis to require an inspection, send the details to my attorney. Otherwise, you don't have permission to enter my backyard."
Her expression changed.
For a moment, I saw something ugly behind the expensive sunglasses.
Then she smiled.
"Fine."
She turned toward the walkway.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
I watched her leave.
Then closed the door.
I stood in the hallway for several seconds.
Something about the conversation disturbed me.
She hadn't seemed interested in inspecting the pool.
She had seemed angry that I wouldn't give her access.
And as she walked away, I had noticed something in her hand.
A folded paper.
An estimate.
The same contractor's logo printed across the top.
It appeared she had already decided what the inspection would find.
The night before the incident, my sister came over for dinner.