"You warned me."
He nodded.
"But I should've done more."
I looked toward the clubhouse.
Several residents were still discussing the meeting near the entrance.
The accountant continued.
"I knew she was becoming unreasonable. I knew she was using violation notices to punish people who disagreed with her."
His voice tightened.
"But I thought the rest of the board could manage it."
For a moment, he looked toward the sky.
Then said.
"I never imagined she'd order a car destroyed."
I understood.
Most people didn't expect a neighborhood disagreement to become a major property-destruction case.
The problem was that repeated small abuses could make more serious conduct seem possible.
The president had spent years testing how much authority residents would allow her to claim.
Now she'd gone further than anyone expected.
I looked toward the accountant.
"What happens next?"
He took a slow breath.
"We're calling for an independent review of the enforcement contracts."
I nodded.
Then he added.
"And I'm going to ask the board to remove her from authority over any matter involving you."
For the first time in weeks, I felt a small measure of relief.
Not because the car could be repaired.
But because someone inside the association was finally willing to challenge the president openly.
A month after the destruction, the museum's senior curator visited my workshop.
She was a woman in her early sixties who had spent decades researching American automotive history.
She had reviewed the Phoenix's documentation before the incident and hoped to include it in an exhibition about experimental vehicle engineering.
When she entered the garage, she stopped.
The special storage area was empty.
The lighting was perfect.
And the polished floor reflected the space where the car should have been.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she turned toward me.
"I'm terribly sorry."
I nodded.
She looked toward the archive cabinet.
"Do you still have your father's records?"
"Yes."
She seemed relieved.
We sat at the workbench.
I brought out the original photographs, technical correspondence, and restoration notebooks.
For nearly two hours, we examined them.
The curator paid special attention to several engineering notes bearing my father's name.
Then she found something I hadn't noticed.
A handwritten memorandum from 1967 described an electrical-system modification proposed during testing.
The writer credited a young technician with identifying a recurring fault and suggesting a revised routing arrangement that improved reliability.
The technician was my father.
The curator read the memorandum twice.
Then looked up.
"Did he ever receive formal recognition for this?"