I showered.
Put on plaid pajama pants, a black pajama shirt, and a charcoal robe because I had no intention of leaving the house.
That detail would later become part of every headline.
PAJAMA-CLAD HOMEOWNER CATCHES HOA PRESIDENT
As if the pajamas were a strategy.
They were laundry avoidance.
At 2:08, the parcel arrived.
The postal carrier walked up.
Placed it near my door.
Photographed the delivery.
Left.
I was in the living room.
The blinds were angled so I could see out without standing in the window.
My doorbell camera recorded.
A second exterior camera covered the driveway.
The inspectors were somewhere nearby.
CHAPTER 9
I did not know exactly where.
Twenty-three minutes passed.
Nothing.
At 2:31, a landscaping truck drove by.
At 2:34, a neighbor walked a dog.
At 2:39, the white SUV turned onto my street.
My heart started pounding.
That surprised me.
I knew what was happening.
I had permission.
Investigators were watching.
I still felt like I was about to be caught doing something wrong.
The SUV stopped across from my driveway.
The HOA president stepped out.
Orange suit.
Exactly like the board meeting.
White blouse.
Low heels.
Sunglasses on top of her head.
Phone against her ear.
She walked toward my house without hesitation.
I could hear her through the doorbell audio.
“Yes, I’m handling it.”
Pause.
“No, because if I leave these things, residents claim precedent.”
She reached the porch.
Looked directly at the package.
Then toward the door.
She picked it up.
My instructions were to remain inside if possible.
I wish I could say I did.
I almost did.
Then she turned and started toward the driveway.
Something in me snapped.
Not heroically.
Not strategically.
Just enough.
I opened the door.
“Put that back.”
She stopped.
Turned.
Her eyes moved over my pajamas.
A tiny expression of contempt crossed her face.
“I’m conducting Association business.”
“You are taking mail from my porch.”
“This parcel was left unattended.”
“I’m standing ten feet from you.”
“You were not present when I arrived.”
“It’s my house.”
She shifted the box under one arm.
“You have been repeatedly informed about delivery compliance.”
“There is no delivery rule.”
“You do not determine that.”
“Neither do you.”
Her phone remained in one hand.
I noticed the camera pointed roughly toward me.
She was recording.
Good.
I stepped down one stair.
“Put it back.”
She pointed at me.
“Do not approach me.”
“I’m on my steps.”
“You’re behaving aggressively.”
I stopped.
Both hands visible.
“Return my property.”
Her voice rose.
“The Association has authority to secure exterior items creating a nuisance.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You can collect it tomorrow.”
“No.”
She stepped toward her SUV.
I moved off the bottom step, not toward her exactly, but enough to stay between her and the driveway.
She came closer.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Move.”
“Leave the package.”
She shoved my forearm aside.