He asked about Brenda's fuel complaints as well. I explained that the disputes preceded my financial review and that her behavior might reflect a broader pattern of trying to control people who challenged her, but I could not prove why she had targeted me initially. Reynolds wrote that down. I appreciated the fact that he did not turn it into a convenient explanation just because it might sound compelling in court.
"The money matters more than the feud," he told me when we finished.
"It should."
"The feud explains how we got a referral. It doesn't establish fraud. The contracts and the funds have to speak for themselves."
He leaned back and glanced at his watch. "We're getting closer to knowing which transactions were authorized, which services were performed, and who benefited. That's as much as I can tell you."
I drove home with the peculiar mixture of impatience and relief that comes from having handed an important problem to someone else. I wanted an answer quickly. I also knew that rushing could destroy the integrity of the answer. Financial records do not become simpler because a neighborhood is angry, and the people accused of misconduct are still entitled to a lawful process.
The next days were tense. Residents reported seeing Brenda remove more files from her home office. A contractor said a landscaping employee had been told to rewrite an invoice to match a later description of work. I did not know whether that report was accurate, and I urged the contractor to share any firsthand knowledge with investigators rather than pass it through a chain of neighbors. Rumor was now moving faster than proof, and I feared that one exaggerated story could damage the credibility of ten genuine ones.
Dorothy proved better at managing that danger than I was. At a homeowners' gathering, she stood in front of the room and told everyone that no one should threaten Brenda's family, publish private addresses, or invent accusations to make the case sound stronger. She reminded residents that children lived in the Ashworth house and that whatever adults had done, those children were not responsible. Her words changed the tone of the meeting.
"If we want honest government here," she said, "we have to practice honesty while we're asking for it. We don't get to become cruel just because we think somebody else has been cruel first."
I looked at her and wondered why she had not been president years earlier. Then I remembered that she had spent those years caring for Harold, raising a family, and helping neighbors without needing a title. Her authority came from a different place than Brenda's. It had been earned in ordinary acts before anyone thought to call a meeting.
The following Sunday brought a brief period of stillness. No new violation notices appeared. The anonymous accounts posted less frequently. Brenda's Range Rover remained in the driveway for most of the day, and I saw her husband carrying groceries into the house while their children played near the garage. The sight reminded me that the collapse of one person's public position was rarely contained neatly within that person's life.