Her expression softened. "I understand. I won't print her private information. Can you tell me why the homeowners called this meeting?"
"They've been fined, threatened, and denied clear answers about the association's money. We have records that raise serious questions. They deserve to hear those questions and see what supports them."
"And the burglary last night?"
"Someone entered my house without permission and was arrested. The police are investigating."
Sarah watched me for a moment, then closed her notebook. "Thank you. I'll stay for the meeting."
I was grateful she didn't press me further. The thought of Zoe reading every ugly detail in the newspaper made my stomach twist. I had invited scrutiny of the HOA's finances, not of my daughter's fear.
Vivian arrived at six-fifty, ten minutes before the scheduled start. She wore a navy designer suit, pearls, and a pale scarf arranged with such precision that I wondered whether she had practiced in the mirror. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was carefully applied. Yet she seemed smaller than the woman who had stood in my driveway threatening me. Her husband, Richard Ashworth, accompanied her. He wore a dark overcoat and kept his eyes on the floor. I had met him only once, at a neighborhood cookout, and knew little about his role in association affairs.
Vivian stopped when she saw the room. For a moment her expression showed genuine surprise. Then she lifted her chin and moved toward the front, where she appeared to expect a reserved seat. A few longtime supporters greeted her. Most people remained quiet. She set a leather portfolio on the table and asked Janet why the meeting was proceeding when she had announced a postponement.
Janet showed her the signed membership request and the notices prepared under the bylaws. The community center had confirmed its availability; there was no plumbing emergency. The members had requested a special meeting through the association's procedures and had taken the necessary steps to convene it. Vivian's purported postponement did not, by itself, erase their authority to meet.
"You're manufacturing a revolt," Vivian said.
Janet answered calmly. "The members are exercising the rights their documents give them. You're welcome to state your position and respond to the records."
Vivian looked past Janet to me. "This is your doing."
I could have reminded her that her son had been inside my home less than eighteen hours earlier. I could have listed the damaged door and the tire receipts. Instead, I said, "The members signed the request themselves."
She walked away without answering. Richard lingered long enough to look toward the folder under my arm. "Mr. Rodriguez," he said quietly, "I hope you understand that accusations can hurt innocent people."
I studied his face. He looked exhausted. "I do. That's why we're using records and giving everyone a chance to respond."
He nodded once and followed his wife. I couldn't tell whether he believed her, doubted her, or had simply spent years avoiding difficult questions. I wasn't there to decide his guilt by association. If he had knowingly participated in any improper transactions, investigators would determine that. If he hadn't, he was about to have a very painful evening.