Patricia was pointing toward a folder.
The man nodded.
Then looked toward the street.
I recognized the surname immediately.
When Patricia saw me, her expression changed.
She closed the folder.
The younger man glanced toward me.
"Who's that?"
Patricia's answer was too quiet to hear.
But I saw her lips move.
Then the man gave me a long, appraising look.
I continued toward the clubhouse.
Patricia intercepted me.
"Mr. Reed."
"Mrs. Holloway."
Her smile looked forced.
"What brings you here?"
"Management question."
"About?"
"Landscaping."
She glanced toward the building.
Then said, "You could've emailed."
I smiled.
"I did. They suggested I stop by."
For a moment, she seemed annoyed.
Then the younger man approached.
Patricia's face changed.
"Marcus, this is my son, Nolan."
He held out his hand.
I shook it.
"Nice to meet you."
Nolan smiled.
"Likewise."
His grip was firm.
His expression wasn't unfriendly.
But there was something calculating in the way he looked toward my clothes and the truck keys in my hand.
"You're the guy with the blue Chevy, right?"
I stared.
For a moment, I considered asking how he knew.
Then I remembered who his mother was.
"That's me."
He nodded.
"Nice truck."
"Thanks."
He looked toward Patricia.
Then back at me.
"Some of these communities have pretty strict towing policies."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Do they?"
He smiled.
"Absolutely."
I looked directly at him.
"Then I'm sure they follow the applicable laws and their own governing documents."
His smile faltered.
Patricia stepped forward.
"Marcus has been disputing a compliance matter."
I nodded.
"Because nobody's identified the rule I've supposedly violated."
Nolan laughed lightly.