“No.”
Her expression suggested she had never encountered the word before.
I continued.
“I’m not giving Evan my Mustang.”
“You haven’t even considered it.”
“I considered it for approximately one second.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“It’s my property.”
“You have other transportation.”
“So?”
“My son does not.”
“That sounds like something you should solve.”
Karen’s jaw tightened.
Evan finally spoke.
“Mom, seriously, I never asked for his car.”
She spun around.
“Stay out of this.”
“It’s literally about me.”
“Evan.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked mortified.
Karen turned back toward me.
“I was hoping we could handle this neighbor-to-neighbor.”
“There is nothing to handle.”
“There are HOA provisions that may apply.”
I almost laughed again.
“To you taking my car?”
“To community consideration of certain property.”
“Show me the provision.”
Karen stiffened.
“I don’t carry every governing document with me.”
“You’re carrying a clipboard.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“So is your request.”
Her face flushed.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“If you refuse to cooperate, I may need authorities present.”
I looked at her.
“Authorities for what?”
“Property dispute.”
“There is no property dispute.”
“You’re creating one.”
“By owning my own car?”
Karen began dialing.
I folded my arms.
“Who exactly are you calling?”
“The police.”
I stared at her for a second.
Then I picked up my coffee again.
“Go ahead.”
That apparently was not the response she expected.
She turned away and began speaking into the phone.
“Yes, I need officers dispatched to Brookfield Estates. We have a property ownership dispute escalating.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Escalating.
I was standing in my own driveway.
Barely speaking above conversational volume.
Evan covered his face with one hand.
“Mom, this is insane.”
Karen ignored him.
She gave the dispatcher my address.
Then she ended the call.
“They’re coming.”
“Excellent.”
She seemed unsettled by my calmness.
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“I’m trying to decide whether I should finish polishing before they arrive.”
“You think this is funny.”
“I think you calling law enforcement because I won’t donate you a classic Mustang is unusual.”
She paced near the edge of the driveway.
I took out my phone.
Not to call anyone yet.
To record.
After the fence incident, my attorney had advised me to document every meaningful interaction with the HOA.
Karen noticed the phone.
“Are you recording me?”
“Yes.”
“I do not consent.”
“We’re standing outside on my property.”
“You can’t just record people.”
“I’m documenting a property dispute. Remember?”
Evan coughed suspiciously like he was hiding a laugh.
Karen glared at him.
Ten minutes later, distant sirens became audible.
Curtains began moving in neighboring houses.
Mr. Henderson stepped onto his porch.
Across the street, Emily Parker came outside carrying a laundry basket, saw the police cruiser, and forgot whatever she had intended to do.
The cruiser stopped at the curb.
Two officers stepped out.
Officer Daniel Ruiz looked to be in his forties.
His partner, Officer Megan Bennett, was younger.
Both approached calmly.
“Morning.”
Karen immediately stepped forward.
“Officers, thank goodness.”
Ruiz looked between us.
“We received a call regarding a property dispute.”
“Yes.”
Karen pointed toward my Mustang.
“That vehicle is the issue.”
Officer Bennett looked at the car.
Then at me.
I raised my coffee slightly.
Ruiz asked, “Who owns it?”
“I do.”
Karen interrupted.
“That is disputed.”
I looked at her.
“No, it isn’t.”
Ruiz raised a hand.
“One at a time.”
He turned toward Karen.
“Ma’am, what is your claim to the vehicle?”
Karen straightened.
“I’m president of the homeowners association.”
Ruiz waited.
Karen continued.
“The vehicle is a prominent neighborhood asset, and there are provisions within our community guidelines that allow consideration of property use when it affects community interests.”
Ruiz blinked.
“What does that have to do with ownership?”
Karen gestured toward Evan.
“My son needs transportation.”
Officer Bennett stared at her.
I watched the exact moment she realized she might have walked into something absurd.
Ruiz asked carefully, “Are you saying you believe the HOA owns this gentleman’s car?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying the HOA may have authority to facilitate reassignment.”
Officer Bennett looked toward me.
“Sir, do you have the title?”
“Inside.”
“Would you mind showing us?”
“Not at all.”
I went into the house.
When I returned, I carried a folder.
The original title was inside a protective sleeve.
So were insurance records.
Registration.
Restoration receipts.
Photographs documenting the vehicle twenty years earlier.
And, because I had learned never to underestimate Karen, a copy of previous correspondence from the state attorney’s office regarding HOA overreach.
Officer Ruiz reviewed the title.
“Your name.”
“Yes.”
“Any lien?”
“No.”
He looked at Karen.
“Ma’am, this appears straightforward.”
Karen folded her arms.
“You don’t understand HOA law.”
Officer Bennett’s eyebrows rose.
Karen continued.
“The association has governing authority within this development.”
“Not over vehicle title,” Ruiz said.
“You haven’t read our covenants.”
“Do your covenants say you can take privately titled vehicles?”
Karen hesitated.
“Not in those exact words.”
Evan stared at the sidewalk.
Ruiz handed the title back to me.
“Sir, as far as we’re concerned, there’s no criminal issue here.”
Karen stepped forward.
“But he is refusing a legitimate community request.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“He’s being hostile.”
Officer Bennett looked at me.
I was holding coffee.
“Has he threatened you?”
“No.”
“Touched you?”
“No.”
“Prevented you from leaving?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly are you asking us to do?”
Karen opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then pointed toward the Mustang.
“Make him cooperate.”
Officer Ruiz stared at her for a long second.
“That is not something law enforcement can do.”
Mr. Henderson, still watching from his porch, laughed loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Karen turned.
“This is private HOA business, Harold.”