The employee I spoke with sounded uncomfortable. "Mr. Rodriguez, I can't comment on board politics. But if you want to inspect records you're entitled to see, make a written request. Preserve proof that it was received."
I asked whether my disputed fines had been approved in a board hearing. She said she would have to check. A week passed without an answer. Meanwhile, new notices arrived. The amounts rose from fifty dollars to seventy-five, then a hundred. None was large enough to ruin me alone, but together they suggested a strategy: overwhelm the homeowner with constant expense and make peace seem cheaper than resistance.
At night, after Zoe went to bed, I sat at the dining table with a calculator and the growing stack of letters. I calculated what I'd spent on certified mail, printing, extra time off work, and consultations. I thought about the hours I'd lost when I could have been helping Zoe study for algebra or watching a movie with her. Vivian didn't need to win in a courtroom to cause damage. She only needed to keep forcing me to answer.
One evening, Zoe sat across from me while I was making copies. "Is this all about Gerald?"
I looked at her. "It started before Gerald, technically. The mailbox was first."
"That's worse. We're fighting a woman over a mailbox."
"I'm asking her to follow her own rules."
"Dad, I know." She twisted a pencil between her fingers. "But you're always doing paperwork now."
That hurt because it was true. I closed the folder. "You're right. I'm sorry."
She shrugged, trying not to seem emotional. "It's just that we moved here so you wouldn't be stressed all the time."
I pushed my chair back and joined her on the couch. We watched an old comedy she'd been asking me to see for weeks. She laughed at jokes I didn't understand, and I laughed because she was laughing. For ninety minutes, the letters stayed on the table, untouched. It was a better evening than any argument I could have won.
The first time Trevor came onto our property at night, I thought it was an animal. It was just after eleven. I had fallen asleep on the couch when gravel crunched outside. Then a faint light moved across the garage window. I lifted the blinds enough to look out and saw Trevor moving beside the house, using his phone as a flashlight. He paused near the rear door, looked around, and bent toward something I couldn't see.
I stepped onto the porch, keeping the locked storm door between us. "Trevor. What are you doing?"
He straightened. For a second he looked startled; then the smirk returned. "Official HOA security check. Somebody complained about noise."
"At eleven at night?"
"Complaints come in when they come in."
"Leave my property. If you don't, I'm calling the police."
He moved closer to the porch steps. "You think the cops are going to believe some divorced loser over my mother? She's respected here. You're just the guy who won't follow the rules."