Daniel’s gaze moved between us. “Do you have documentation showing that?”
Brooke held up the folder.
“I have the access agreement.”
“The agreement with no homeowner signature?”
Her face flushed.
“You’re overstepping.”
“I’m trying to understand whether we’re being asked to enforce a private dispute.”
“You were hired by the board.”
“Northgate was hired by someone using a personal card.”
Brooke went very still.
I noticed it because Daniel was still speaking.
“The invoice lists the event as a private residential function. There’s no HOA account number, no work order, and no board authorization attached.”
“Who gave you the invoice?” I asked.
Daniel looked at Brooke.
“She did.”
Brooke’s voice sharpened. “That is enough.”
“No,” Daniel said. “It isn’t.”
Marcus touched his shoulder. “Daniel.”
Daniel shook his head.
“We’re leaving. We don’t have authority to remove anyone.”
Brooke grabbed the folder and pushed past them toward the back door.
“Then I’ll handle it myself.”
I followed her onto the patio.
The pool was empty now. Plastic cups floated near the skimmer. A child’s blue goggles rested on the bottom step. The rented speakers had been unplugged, but the catering van still blocked part of the driveway.
Brooke stopped beneath the camera.
“You think a few photographs will save you?” she asked.
“I think the recording will help.”
Her eyes lifted toward the blinking status light.
“What recording?”
“The camera above you.”
“The board never approved that camera.”
“It was installed on my house.”
“It may be seized as evidence of unauthorized surveillance.”
“By whom?”
“By the association.”
“There is no association police.”
“You keep making jokes because you don’t understand the position you’re in.”
“What position is that?”
She lowered her voice.
“You are the only homeowner who has refused to sign the new access agreement.”
I felt the words land before I understood them.
“New agreement?”
“Everyone else cooperated.”
“Cooperated with what?”
She glanced toward the street to make sure no guests remained nearby.
“The board is consolidating recreational access.”
“That still doesn’t explain my pool.”
“It explains everything.”
“No, it explains a phrase. What does recreational access mean?”
“It means properties with private amenities may be designated for scheduled community use.”
“Designated by whom?”
“The board.”
“Without the owner’s signature?”
“Under the amended declaration.”
“Show me the amendment.”
She tapped the folder.
“It’s in here.”
“Then give it to me.”
“You’ll receive a copy after you comply.”
“With what?”
“Your pool must remain available during designated hours.”
I looked at the wet footprints leading into my house.
“And the back door?”
“That was a mistake.”
“The lockbox?”
“Also a mistake.”
“Those are two very specific mistakes.”
Her face had lost its composure. The white blazer was streaked with water near the cuff. A strand of blonde hair had come loose beside her cheek.
“You were supposed to be away longer.”
The words came out so quietly that I almost missed them.
I stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
Brooke’s eyes widened.
“I said the event was scheduled while you were traveling.”
“You said I was supposed to be away longer.”
“I did not.”
“The camera recorded you.”
Her gaze snapped to the camera again.
That was the concrete detail I needed.
The camera’s status light was blinking, but the small storage indicator beside it was dark.
I checked the app on my phone.
The live feed loaded immediately. The current image showed the empty pool, the patio, and Brooke standing beneath the camera.
But when I opened the timeline, the recording jumped from September 12 at 2:07 a.m. to September 12 at 2:19 a.m.
Eleven minutes were missing.
I had not deleted them.
Brooke watched my face.
“What is it?” my attorney asked.
“The camera footage has a gap.”
“What time?”
“2:07 to 2:19 on September 12.”
The day before I left.
Brooke took one step backward.
I opened the camera’s access log. The system listed every device that had connected to it. My phone appeared first. My tablet appeared second.
Then there was an unfamiliar device.
ADMIN-ROUTER.
It had connected at 2:12 a.m.
The connection lasted six minutes.
I read the entry aloud.
Brooke’s expression changed so quickly that Daniel noticed it from the doorway.
“Is that an association device?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why did it access my camera?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said the board may seize the footage.”
“I said the footage may violate community privacy rules.”
“Who had access to my camera account?”
She did not answer.
My attorney’s voice was low and precise. “Ethan, screenshot the access log. Then disconnect the camera from the network. Do not let anyone touch the device.”
I took the screenshots and moved toward the router cabinet near the laundry room.
Brooke blocked me.
“You cannot shut off association equipment.”
“This is my internet.”
“The camera is part of the community security system.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“It monitors the pool area.”
“It was installed to monitor my pool area.”
“The association paid for the installation.”
“I paid for it.”
“Your dues covered the equipment.”
“My dues do not cover cameras inside my fenced yard.”
She looked toward the hallway.
For the first time, I understood why she had been so interested in the camera.
It wasn’t simply recording the party.
It had recorded whoever entered my house before the party began.
I went around her and opened the cabinet. The router’s connection light blinked steadily. I unplugged the network cable connected to the camera hub.
The status light above the pool went dark.
Brooke grabbed my arm.
“Put that back.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Ma’am, don’t touch him.”
She released me.
I photographed the red mark her fingers had left on my skin.
Her breathing had become shallow.
“You’re making a serious mistake,” she said.
“Then explain the missing footage.”
“It’s a technical issue.”
“Explain the unknown administrator device.”
“I can’t.”
“Explain why you knew I was supposed to be away longer.”
She looked at the folder in her hands.
I reached for it.
This time, she did not pull away quickly enough. I took the folder and opened it beneath the patio light.
The first pages were copies of the amended declaration. The language was dense, but one sentence was highlighted in yellow:
Upon temporary vacancy of a residence, the board may authorize limited access to private recreational improvements for community purposes.
The amendment carried a filing stamp from the county recorder’s office.
It looked official.
Then I saw the date.
The document had been filed on September 11.
Two days after the board’s supposed approval.
I turned the page.
There was a list of properties marked for “temporary access review.” My address was at the top.
Next to it, someone had typed:
OWNER ABSENCE VERIFIED — 9/13–9/22.
My stomach tightened.
The board had known the exact dates of my trip before I left.
I flipped to the signature page.