Someone had asked.
Patricia had chosen not to provide it.
Then came the remotes.
Association expense records showed Patricia purchased twelve universal garage remotes and charged them to the HOA as "common facility access equipment."
There was no common facility at 14 Larks Lane.
She had converted my predecessor's garage into one by accounting terminology.
Rebecca found the refrigerator too.
Purchased by the HOA.
Delivered to my address.
No lease.
No license.
No permission in board minutes.
The association board began asking its own questions.
That mattered more than anything I could say.
The people living around me had considered Patricia synonymous with Larkspur Commons for eleven years.
She organized holiday decorations.
Negotiated landscaping contracts.
Scheduled pool repairs.
Enforced architectural rules.
Remembered who owed dues.
Arranged meal trains when someone was sick.
Got potholes patched.
She was not a cartoon villain.
That would have made the story easier.
Patricia was useful.
She worked harder than most volunteers.
She solved problems.
And somewhere along the way, her ability to solve problems became permission in her own mind to define the limits of everyone else's property.
That is how durable abuses often begin.
Not with someone announcing:
I am taking what belongs to you.
With:
This is easier.
Everyone benefits.
Nobody minds.
Why make this difficult?
Then one day someone minds.
And suddenly that person becomes the problem.
The association called a special meeting.
I did not attend.
People have asked why.
The answer is simple.
Nothing in that room belonged to me.
My deed did not require a vote.
My driveway did not become mine by fourteen homeowners raising their hands.
The meeting concerned what kind of organization Larkspur Commons wanted after learning what its president had done.
That was their decision.
And because I was a sitting judge, my presence would distort it even if I never spoke.
So I stayed home.
I mowed the lawn.
The lawn was exactly large enough to occupy a man while a neighborhood decided whether free storage mattered more than property boundaries.
Dale came over afterward.
The sun was low.
Orange light stretched across the cul-de-sac.
I shut off the mower.
"How bad?"
He laughed.
"Depends who you ask."
"Motion to remove Patricia from the presidency?"
"Fourteen to three."
I leaned against the handle.
"Who made the motion?"
"Bev."
That surprised me.
Dale smiled.
"Thought it might."
"What happened?"
He told me.
The clubhouse had been full.
Patricia stood at the front wearing the green lanyard and holding the accordion folder she carried everywhere.
She did not apologize.
Not initially.
Instead, she made the strongest argument available.
"You all liked the garage."
Nobody answered.
"You liked the courtesy cart being available."
"You liked not paying for off-site storage."
"You liked having holiday equipment close."
"You liked having overflow parking during gatherings."
"Who arranged it?"
"I did."
"Who solved those problems?"
"I did."
"Now Thomas Hale moves in, removes everything, tows my RV, changes the locks, and suddenly I am the villain because he is a judge."
Half the room went quiet.
Because part of what she said was true.
They had liked it.
Enjoyment becomes uncomfortable when you discover the subsidy came from someone else's property.
Patricia continued.