The contract wasn't necessarily illegal.
But the board had never disclosed the relationship.
And the company had received payments for services that homeowners later discovered hadn't always been performed.
The new board suspended the contract.
Then it referred the matter to the HOA's attorney.
The investigation continued.
I didn't participate beyond providing documents when asked.
My life slowly returned to normal.
Or something close to normal.
The fines against me were dismissed.
The collections notice was withdrawn.
The lien threat disappeared.
My mailbox stayed black.
My flower bed stayed mulched.
And my trash can remained inside the Concrete Fortress.
But there was one more thing.
The new HOA board called me into a meeting.
Linda was there.
Frank was there.
The new president, Harold, was there.
Harold slid a document across the table.
"What is this?"
"A proposed amendment."
I read it.
The HOA was changing its enforcement procedures.
Board members involved in disputes would be required to recuse themselves.
Homeowners would receive written explanations for violations.
Fines would require documented evidence.
Appeals would be reviewed by a separate committee.
And all board meetings would be recorded.
I looked at Harold.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you were the reason we realized we needed it."
I shook my head.
"I didn't do anything special."
Harold smiled.
"You kept records."
He paused.
"Most people don't."
That was true.
I had spent months wondering whether I was being ridiculous.
Maybe I was overreacting.
Maybe I should just move.
Maybe fighting wasn't worth it.
But sometimes the difference between a bully succeeding and a bully failing is simply whether someone is willing to document what happened.
A week later, I received another letter.
This time, it wasn't from the HOA.
It was from Brenda's attorney.
Rachel read it.
Then she looked at me.
"She's threatening legal action."
"For what?"
"Property interference."
I laughed.
"Against me?"
"Yes."
"Because of the concrete?"
"Apparently."
"What do we do?"
Rachel closed the letter.
"We wait."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Three weeks passed.
Nothing happened.
Then another letter arrived.
This time from Brenda herself.
She wanted me to remove the Concrete Fortress.
I didn't.
She demanded that I apologize.