“Because I want to know what she does next.”
Tate shook his head.
“You're treating this like an investigation.”
“Everything is an investigation if you pay attention long enough.”
The second violation arrived three weeks later.
This time the Mustang had supposedly violated the neighborhood's noise restrictions.
Sterling checked his calendar.
The car hadn't been started for eight days.
He saved the letter.
Then came a complaint about an oil stain on his driveway.
Sterling walked outside.
A dark puddle sat near the garage.
The Mustang had not been parked there in more than a week.
He inspected the area.
Near the air-conditioning unit, he found an empty red plastic oil container.
He placed it inside a plastic evidence bag.
Then he wrote the date on the bag.
Tate watched from the doorway.
“You think she did that?”
“I think someone did.”
“Same thing.”
“Not yet.”
The notices continued.
A demand to remove the Mustang from the garage.
A warning about “unauthorized mechanical activity.”
A letter claiming the vehicle was being used as a commercial restoration project.
Then Hadley sent three men wearing matching navy polo shirts.
They arrived one Tuesday morning and announced they had been authorized to inspect Sterling's garage.
Sterling stood in the doorway.
“By whom?”
The tallest man produced a clipboard.
“The HOA.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No.”
“Do you have my permission?”
“No.”
“Then you can't enter.”
The man looked uncomfortable.
“We've been instructed to inspect the vehicle.”
Sterling closed the garage door.
Two days later, an inspection notice appeared.
Then another fine.
Then a threat of legal action.
Sterling filed everything.
Dates.
Photographs.
Letters.
Emails.
Receipts.
Video footage.
He never shouted.
He never threatened.
He simply documented.
That was what frightened Tate.
“Dad, why are you letting her do this?”
Sterling sat at the kitchen island.
“Because she thinks I'm weak.”
“Are you?”
Sterling smiled.
“No.”
“Then stop her.”
Sterling looked toward the window.
“People like Hadley become careful when they know someone can fight back.”
He paused.
“I want to know what she does when she thinks nobody can.”
He didn't have to wait long.
The answer came through Bryson.
One afternoon, Tate encountered him near the community pool.
Bryson smiled.
“Tell your dad to quit being stupid.”
Tate frowned.
“Why?”
“Because that Mustang is going to be mine one way or another.”
Tate stared at him.
“Did you buy it?”
Bryson laughed.
“My mom says I don't need to.”
Tate went home and told his father everything.
Sterling's expression didn't change.