Lena's eyes hardened. "Then we fight back."
The HOA met once a month in the community clubhouse, a sterile room with fold-up chairs and the faint smell of chlorine from the adjacent indoor pool. By the time I arrived, clutching the two violation notices, the place was half full—mostly older residents who looked like they'd been dragged away from their televisions.
At the head table sat three board members: Roderick Hail, the HOA president with slicked-back silver hair and a perpetual condescending smile; Marjorie Kent, the treasurer, spectacles perched on her nose like a hawk ready to swoop; and a much younger man, Darren, who looked like he'd been bullied into volunteering.
And there in the front row was Cara, notepad in hand, pretending to be the concerned citizen. She looked up as I entered and flashed that same smug smirk.
When the floor opened for resident concerns, I stood. "I received two violation notices this week," I began, holding up the papers, "one for my front door, one for a hose holder. The door was the same color when we bought the house. And I have photos of at least 15 other homes with non-standard door colors."
Roderick didn't even glance at my evidence. He steepled his fingers. "Mr. Cole, violations are violations. The fact that others may also be in violation does not negate your responsibility."
"With respect," I countered, my voice tight, "this shows selective enforcement. I'm being targeted."
"The board acts only on formal complaints," he replied smoothly. "We received a complaint about your property. We are obligated to act."
Cara raised her hand like a model student. "If I may," she said, rising to her feet, "I filed the complaint. This isn't personal. It's about maintaining our neighborhood's harmony. Property values depend on consistency. We all need to sacrifice a little for the good of the community."
The room murmured approval. Roderick nodded, clearly pleased. The fix was in.
I clenched my jaw. "This isn't about harmony. This is retaliation. I stopped you from using my private charger. Now you're weaponizing the bylaws."
The room went silent. Some neighbors shifted uncomfortably. Others avoided eye contact.
Roderick's smile thinned. "Mr. Cole, this is not the place for personal disputes. The board has reviewed your violations. They stand. You have 10 days before fines commence." He tapped the gavel. "Next item."
I stood there, humiliated, dismissed in front of my neighbors. Cara smirked openly, scribbling in her notepad like she was writing my obituary.