It mattered to me that we do this openly. Victoria had spent years using private records and ambiguous rules to keep people uncertain about their rights. I wasn't going to replace that method with secret recordings and theatrical surprises simply because I thought it would be satisfying.
On Saturday night I sat alone in the kitchen reviewing the slides. Every figure had a footnote or a source document. Every allegation was labeled according to what the evidence actually showed. Nadia had insisted we avoid guessing at criminal intent, and Felicia had reviewed the summary of the disputed assessment increases.
The first slide wasn't about Victoria. It showed a photograph of Willowbrook's entrance sign, with its promises of community, safety, and shared responsibility. Underneath I had written one question.
Who does the association belong to?
Maria came downstairs and stood behind me for a moment, looking at the screen. She was wearing my old college sweatshirt, which made the district attorney title feel particularly irrelevant.
"That a question or a statement?" she asked.
"Both, I think."
"Good."
I closed the laptop. "Are you coming tomorrow?"
"As a resident's guest, yes. Not as a prosecutor. My professional obligations are being handled separately. I won't speak about an open investigation."
"I don't want you there because you're the district attorney."
She leaned down and kissed my forehead. "I know."
"I want you there because I'm scared I'll say something stupid in front of a hundred people."
"You probably will. Public speaking makes everybody say something stupid eventually."
I laughed. It was the first time I'd laughed all day.
She sat beside me and rested her hand on mine. We stayed there until the kitchen clock reached midnight. When we finally went upstairs, I turned the security camera notifications on, checked that the doors were locked, and forced myself to leave the laptop closed.
I didn't know whether the next day would change Willowbrook. I knew only that the meeting would create a record that belonged to more than one person.
And for the first time since I had paid that absurd mailbox fine, I wasn't going to be the only homeowner in the room asking a question.
Sunday began with the kind of clear blue sky that makes an inland California morning seem almost peaceful. I drove to the community center at nine to help set up chairs. The streets were quiet, except for a few early cyclists and the distant sound of a gardener trimming hedges near the entrance.
For a moment, standing beside my car with a box of cables, I remembered the day I first toured Willowbrook. The agent had pointed to this same community center and told me that residents gathered here to discuss matters of common interest. I wondered how many ordinary gatherings had been canceled over the years because people were afraid of what Victoria would say if they showed up.