“My parcel is here,” I said. “Ruth’s old parcel. Maple Crest ends here.”
I traced the boundary line with my finger.
“The dirt trail your neighbors have been driving for thirteen years is on this side of the line. Always has been. The HOA’s authority ends at this fence. Nothing in their CC&Rs can govern a parcel that isn’t in their declaration. Every fine they ever issued against Ruth was void the day it was written.”
Frank did not say anything for a long moment.
“Void?” he asked.
“Void. Worth less than the paper.”
“She paid almost three thousand dollars in fines over four years.”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t have three thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
Frank set the beer down. He looked for a second like he might cry. Then he picked the beer back up, drank half of it in one pull, and set it down again.
“What do you need from us, Mr... what do I call you?”
“Tom.”
“Tom. What do you need from us?”
“Two things. The next HOA meeting. When is it?”
“Tuesday. Seven p.m. Clubhouse.”
“I need you to be there. I need you to bring those photos. I need you to bring those letters. And I need three or four other people who have been fined improperly to come too. They don’t have to speak. They just have to be there.”
Frank nodded.
“And the second thing?”
“Don’t tell anyone what’s coming.”
Frank looked at me carefully.
“What is coming, exactly?”
I thought about how to answer that.
“A correction,” I said. “A correction that is thirteen years late.”
Frank nodded slowly. He picked up his beer and looked down at the gate at the end of the property line, the way you look at a thing that has finally stopped moving.