The first paragraph said the HOA had consulted with their legal counsel and found no violation of any applicable statute. The second paragraph said that my certified letter constituted harassment of board members, and that any further threatening correspondence would result in an HOA rule violation citation.
I would be fined $150.
I want you to really absorb that. I sent a legal inquiry about water damage; I was told I would be fined for sending it.
My hands were shaking a little when I read it, and not from anger. I was past anger at that point. My hands were shaking because I recognized what was happening. This was a power play, pure and simple. Constance was telling me that in Millbrook Pines, the rules meant whatever she decided they meant, and my job was to absorb whatever came my way with a smile and a check.
But here's the thing about being an electrician for 25 years: you learn that every system has a fault. Every circuit has a weak point. You just have to be patient enough to find it.
I called Theo that evening. He answered on the second ring, and I could hear the Cardinals game in the background—the crack of a bat, the crowd. I told him what happened.
There was a long pause. "You know what Constance did before she retired?" he said.
"HR manager, right?"
"She managed risk compliance for a mid-size commercial property company," Theo said. "She knows exactly what she's doing, Garrett. She's been through this before. She knows how to outlast people."
I thanked him, hung up, and went outside and stood in my backyard in the October dark. The ground was still soft from the last rain. My boot left a deep print in the mud near the fence line. Somewhere overhead, geese were moving south. The air had that particular late-fall smell: dead leaves, cold soil, a faint trace of wood smoke from somebody's chimney two streets over.
I looked at the fence. I looked at the spot where the pipe discharged. I thought about fault lines. I wasn't going anywhere.