Sarah Mitchell returned his call just before ten. She was a civil attorney who had represented David in several business transactions and knew the difference between a public fight and a fight worth having. After listening to his account, she asked him to send the original HOA notice, the forwarded posts, and the footage saved by his driveway security system.
"Clare has stopped arguing about a stolen car," Sarah said after reading the notice. "The police disproved that, so now she's constructing a story about your behavior. It's harder to refute a vague claim that someone felt threatened unless you have the full sequence."
"I have the video," David replied.
"How complete?"
"The driveway cameras recorded the entire encounter, about twenty-three minutes. The wide camera shows the movers, Clare crossing the street, the officers arriving, and the neighbors on their porches. The entry camera recorded audio because the conversation happened near the house."
"Preserve the originals and metadata. Don't edit the source files. If someone produces a cropped clip, we can compare it to the full recording." Sarah paused. "Do you want me to send the board a demand letter tonight?"
"Not yet. If they intend to conduct a hearing, let them explain their process in writing. I want to see what they say before I put lawyers at the front of this."
"That's your decision, David, but you shouldn't have to endure an unfair proceeding just to prove a point."
"I know." He looked at the compass on his desk. "I'm tired of the only successful response being a bigger person calling another bigger person."
When the conversation ended, David opened a locked briefcase and removed a thick folder bearing the words WHITMORE MOBILITY GROUP - CONFIDENTIAL. The contents concerned debt restructuring, voting rights, shareholder obligations, and the protections negotiated for hundreds of employees eighteen months earlier. He had not opened it because Clare had challenged him in the driveway. He opened it because the day reminded him how easily institutions could be guided by an accusation before anyone looked at the underlying evidence.
He studied the folder beside the battered compass. Nineteen years separated the compass from those documents, and the years between held almost the entire shape of his adult life. At twenty-seven he had been an outside engineer whose suggestions were dismissed until they worked. At forty-six he had resources few people in Hawthorne Ridge could imagine, but none of those resources would make Clare's first question appropriate.
Sunday brought rain and an almost continuous stream of messages from the neighborhood. One resident wrote that Clare was merely trying to keep everyone safe. Another said David could have avoided trouble by dressing more like a property owner on moving day, a statement that made Sarah mutter something unprintable when he forwarded it. Three neighbors asked whether he would consider apologizing for a tense exchange, not specifying anything for which he should apologize.