But I felt as though my home had been invaded.
Not because somebody physically entered the house.
Because a person with a title had tried to remove something precious from my property using a document that apparently wasn't genuine.
I realized then that the financial cost might be the smallest part of what happened.
Patricia had tried to make me feel powerless in my own driveway.
And I wasn't the kind of man who forgot that easily.
The first neighbor to approach was a sixty-nine-year-old woman named Eleanor Price.
She lived across the street in a beige single-story house with a small front garden and white shutters.
I had waved to her many times.
We had occasionally discussed the weather.
But we weren't close.
That evening, she appeared near my front walkway carrying a covered dish.
I stood.
"Good evening."
She smiled gently.
"I brought you dinner."
I looked toward the dish.
"That's kind of you."
She glanced at the Silverado.
Then toward me.
"Thought you might not feel like cooking."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I smiled.
"Thank you."
She handed me the food.
We stood quietly.
Then she said, "I saw what happened."
I nodded.
"Hard to miss."
Her expression tightened.
"Patricia's been doing things like this for years."
I looked toward her.
"What things?"
She hesitated.
Then glanced toward the street.
"Threatening people. Making them pay fees nobody can explain. Acting like the association belongs to her."
I listened.
Eleanor continued.
"Most homeowners don't want trouble. They just want to live in their houses."
I nodded.
"That's all I wanted."
She smiled sadly.
"I know."
For a moment, she seemed to be deciding whether to say something else.
Then she leaned closer.
"You're not the first person who's had a vehicle removed."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She looked toward the Silverado.
Then back at me.
"Last summer, a man on Willow Lane lost his old pickup."
I stared.
"Lost it how?"
"The HOA said it was abandoned."
"Was it?"
She shook her head.
"He drove it every week."