“Balloonage.”
“That is not a word.”
“It was after Barbara finished with it.”
I should have taken Arthur more seriously.
The worst rule involved emergency access.
Oakline’s bylaws required homeowners absent more than fourteen days to provide the association with a method of emergency entry.
Historically, that meant a spare physical key held in a locked cabinet in the management office.
The stated reason was legitimate enough.
Burst pipes.
Fire alarms.
Storm damage.
Unoccupied houses.
But the policy was outdated.
When I bought my home, I objected.
I did not want a physical master key outside my control.
Instead, I proposed a better system.
Temporary emergency code.
Unique credential.
Every use logged.
Code revocable.
The management company accepted.
Barbara disliked it.
“I prefer an actual key.”
She said during the board meeting.
“Electronic systems fail.”
“So do humans.”
I replied.
Arthur coughed to disguise a laugh.
The board approved my compromise.
A special HOA emergency credential was created.
Disabled by default.
I could activate it remotely if a genuine emergency required entry.
Barbara would not hold my permanent primary key.
I thought I had solved the problem.
I had not understood something.
A previous physical contractor key still existed.
The old owner had apparently provided one before I purchased the house.
During closing, I changed the primary locks electronically but had retained a mechanical override cylinder for fire and maintenance access.
I believed every legacy key had been accounted for.
One had not.
And Barbara knew exactly where it was.
Six months after I moved in, I accepted a major project in Tokyo.
Thirty days.
A Japanese manufacturing firm had suffered a significant internal security incident.
They wanted an independent consultant on-site.
The work was lucrative.
Complicated.
Exactly my field.
Oakline bylaws required travel notice for absences longer than two weeks.
So I emailed the management company.
Copied the board.
Departure:
May 1.
Scheduled return:
June 1.
I also arranged lawn care and package holds.
Arthur had my phone number.
Everything covered.
Before leaving, I set the home system into extended-away mode.
Interior temperature:
65 degrees.
Water monitoring active.
Selected lights randomized at night.
Cameras armed.
Door access alerts enabled.
I locked the suitcase.
Looked around the house.
Eleanor’s blue robe hung in the master closet.
Her photographs still occupied part of my office.
I touched the frame of one.
Then left.
The first week in Tokyo disappeared into work.
Jet lag.
Meetings.
Log reviews.
Interviews.
My hotel overlooked the city.
I mostly saw it through a conference-room window.
On the eighth day, an alert appeared.
MASTER BEDROOM THERMOSTAT MANUAL OVERRIDE.
Set from 65 to 72.
I stared.
Could have been automation.
Firmware.
Sensor issue.
I logged in.
Manual adjustment.
Local wall panel.
I checked door history.
Nothing unusual appeared on the smart lock.
That bothered me.
If somebody entered through a normal door, there should have been a credential event.
I opened exterior cameras.
No obvious activity.
The retention system had dozens of motion clips.
Delivery driver.
Landscaper.
Birds.
Arthur walking Tesla.
I made a note.
Next day:
MASTER BATHROOM HUMIDITY EVENT.
Long enough to suggest shower use.
That was not automation.
I accessed interior common-area cameras.
The living-room feed loaded.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.