The foreman hesitated. He signaled the operator to cut the engine. "Fine. But you've got twenty-four hours to clear this up with the board, or we come back with the sheriff."
As the crew packed up and drove off, Daniel walked toward the shed. Why the rush? Why the fake water main excuse?
He grabbed a crowbar from his garage and walked to the shed. He wedged the steel under the rotting floorboards and yanked. The wood splintered. Beneath the floor, buried in the dirt, wasn't a water main.
It was a rusted, heavy iron lockbox.
Daniel carried the heavy box into his kitchen. Javier, Marcus, and Owen arrived thirty minutes later.
"Henderson didn't just refuse to sell," Daniel said, setting a pair of bolt cutters on the table. "He hid something."
With a loud crack, the padlock broke. Inside the box were three thick, yellowed manila envelopes, wrapped in plastic to protect them from moisture.
Owen opened the first one. "Financial ledgers. HOA bank statements from ten years ago."
"Wait," Marcus squinted at the papers. "Henderson was the HOA treasurer before he died, right?"
"Yeah," Daniel said.