"Every message."
"Do you still have the video?"
"Yes."
"Send me everything."
I did.
The video.
The delivery record.
The tracking information.
The text messages.
Screenshots of Karen explicitly claiming that every package should be inspected.
Reeves called again later that afternoon.
This time his tone had changed.
"Do not confront her."
"I wasn't planning to."
"If she contacts you again, preserve everything."
"Understood."
"Do you know whether she still has the package?"
"No."
"All right. We'll take it from here."
The more I thought about it, the less the situation felt like an isolated incident.
Karen had intercepted a delivery driver in broad daylight.
She had claimed HOA authority.
She had taken a private package.
She had opened it.
She had examined confidential documents.
And afterward, instead of hiding what she had done, she defended it as routine.
People generally do not behave that confidently the first time they cross a line.
Two days later, Karen demonstrated just how routine she believed it was.
I was outside watering shrubs when she walked across the street holding her clipboard in one hand and a small cardboard box in the other.
The box belonged to one of my neighbors.
I could see the shipping label from where I stood.
More importantly, I could see that the tape had been cut and replaced with clear household tape.
Karen stopped near my driveway.
"We need to clear something up."
I turned off the hose.
"Sure."
She lifted the package slightly.
"Every delivered package should be inspected."
Her voice carried the smug confidence of someone explaining an established rule to a difficult resident.
I stared at the box.
"You opened that?"
She gave a dismissive shrug.
"The HOA has to protect the neighborhood."
"From packages?"
"From prohibited materials, unauthorized commercial activity, safety concerns, and anything else that could affect residents."
"You don't have the authority to open people's deliveries."
"As HOA president, I have a responsibility."
"No, Karen. You have a title."
Her face tightened.
"Don't take that tone with me."
"You intercepted my package."
"I accepted a delivery."
"You opened it."
"I inspected it."
"Without permission."
She lifted her chin.
"Every package delivered here gets inspected first when necessary."
That line was delivered with such certainty that, for one bizarre second, I almost wondered whether she'd convinced herself there was an actual policy somewhere.
Then I remembered the covenants.
There wasn't.
"Where is my package?"
She hesitated.
"I returned the contents."
"No, you didn't."
"You'll receive what you need."
"That's not your decision."
"I am responsible for this community."
I stepped closer, keeping several feet between us.
"Your HOA rules do not give you the right to inspect private packages."
Her expression hardened.
"We have to protect the neighborhood."
"Federal law protects private deliveries and correspondence, Karen."
That finally made her pause.
The arrogance faltered.
Not for long.
"Stop being dramatic."
"I have the footage."
Silence.
"I have video of you taking the package from the driver."
Her grip tightened around the clipboard.
"You don't know what you saw."
"I also have your messages describing what's inside."
Her face changed.