Mr. Thompson. Derek's voice cracked like a teenager's. We need to discuss this situation. There's been a terrible misunderstanding.
I kept working, letting the hidden recording equipment drink in every syllable. The carburetor adjustment could wait. This conversation was going to destroy them both. What kind of misunderstanding involves $340,000 in fraud?
Dolores shoved past Derek, marching into my garage like she still owned the neighborhood. The motion sensors activated silently, transmitting her confession in real time to federal prosecutors. "The kind where community leaders get railroaded by prosecutors who don't understand property management," she snarled. Derek followed reluctantly, sweat staining his shirt despite the cool October air.
Nathaniel, I know things got heated, but this federal investigation is destroying innocent families. I set down my wrench, wiping grease-stained hands on a shop rag. Innocent families? We're community managers, not criminals, Dolores exploded, pacing around my workbench like a caged predator.
Every fee, every inspection, every enforcement action was completely legal under HOA statutes. Derek shot her a desperate warning look. But Dolores was beyond rational thought. You have no idea what you've unleashed.
Federal agents treating community volunteers like organized crime bosses. It's completely insane. So those phantom inspections Tom documented were legitimate. Phantom inspections.
Dolores's laugh was bitter as burnt motor oil. That senile fool doesn't understand modern community management. Complex fee structures. Compliance monitoring, demographic optimization.
These require sophisticated systems. Derek was practically vibrating with panic. Dolores, maybe we shouldn't discuss specifics. "Demographic optimization.
Quality control, Nathaniel." Her voice carried the cold certainty of someone who had never questioned her own righteousness. Some residents enhance community standards. Others destroy them. Effective management means encouraging improvement through targeted compliance.
She was confessing to federal civil rights violations while FBI equipment recorded every word. Derek tried damage control. What my aunt means is that all residents receive equal treatment under established community guidelines. Equal treatment?
Dolores whirled on him like a striking snake. You think I spent six years building property values just to watch them destroyed by people who think garages are workshops? The mask wasn't just slipping. It was shattered completely.
Dolores, please stop. No, Derek. I'm finished pretending this wasn't necessary. We identified 17 properties occupied by undesirable demographics.
17 Families dragging down everyone else's investment. The taste of victory was metallic on my tongue, like perfectly polished chrome. What makes someone undesirable? Derek looked ready to run, but Dolores was in full confession mode, her narcissism demanding she prove how clever she'd been.
Single mothers with multiple children creating noise, elderly people who can't maintain properties properly, blue-collar workers who use garages for this filth. She gestured at my restoration setup like it was a disease. And your solution was harassment until people moved, targeted enforcement until voluntary relocation occurred, standard property management technique used nationwide, including filing false police reports. Derek physically recoiled, but Dolores doubled down with suicidal confidence.