Nadia moved quickly. She sent the board a formal demand identifying the recorded provisions governing special assessments and asking them to produce the approvals, reserve study, and emergency documentation supporting the charge. She warned members that legal rights and deadlines could vary, and that anyone facing collection action should seek individualized advice.
At three in the afternoon, the management company's regional director informed homeowners that collection of the special assessment was being paused pending review. Victoria immediately called it an unauthorized interference with board policy.
For the first time, however, the management company refused to process the demand on her signature alone.
That evening, Maria arrived at my house looking tired enough that I didn't ask about her work. She sat at the kitchen table while I made soup. I told her about the special assessment and showed her Nadia's letter.
"I don't know if I can keep doing this," I admitted. "I spend my days repairing equipment that matters to sick people. Then I come home and spend hours arguing over who can plant flowers and whether an invoice is real. I bought this place because I wanted a quiet life."
Maria set down her spoon. "You can stop. Nobody gets to demand that you devote your life to a fight you never asked for."
"And if I stop, what happens to Mrs. Chen? To Mr. Rodriguez?"
"They need a system that doesn't depend on you. Which is why you're helping them organize, rather than fighting every battle alone."
I looked around the table. There were fewer papers on it now because we had moved most of them into organized folders. On the refrigerator, Maria had pinned a photograph from our first trip to the mountains. I had my arm around her shoulders, and for once I wasn't looking at a document or a phone.
"How do you decide when you've done enough?" I asked.
She thought about it. "I don't always get that right. But I try to remember that doing the right thing doesn't mean you become responsible for everything that follows."
I didn't sleep well. Around three in the morning I got up, checked the security cameras, and walked through the house. All the doors were locked. The F-150 was parked squarely in my driveway, with enough room on either side for me to move my own car. Maria had spent the night because she was scheduled to be on call for a county emergency-coordination assignment before dawn and was permitted to park her assigned county vehicle at her temporary overnight location.
She had also checked that the arrangement complied with the county's vehicle-use policy, a detail I hadn't bothered asking about until the first time Victoria threatened to tow the truck. Maria wasn't careless with public property. In retrospect, that should have told me more about her than it did.
At six, I heard an engine outside. I assumed it belonged to a landscaper coming early to beat the heat. I turned on the coffee maker and walked toward the kitchen window.
A white SUV stopped at the curb.
Victoria climbed out carrying a crowbar.