Deputy Miller arrived twenty minutes later, lights flashing. He was a local guy. Knew my father. Knew the lake. He parked his cruiser on the county road side, walked up to the gate, and peered through the iron bars at the chaotic traffic jam of wealthy suburbanites inside.

Diane was in his ear before he even stopped walking. "Arrest him! He is holding thirty families hostage! He's extorting us!"

Deputy Miller looked up at me. I walked down the driveway, carrying the green folder. I handed it to him through the bars.

"Morning, Frank," Miller said.

"Morning, Dave. Book 847, Page 223. Tabbed for your convenience."

Miller opened the folder. He read the deed. He read the access agreement. He read Section 4B. He looked at the unpaid invoice, and then at Diane's emails attempting to fine me. He closed the folder and handed it back through the bars.

"Mrs. Marsh," Deputy Miller said, adjusting his radio belt. "This is private property. Mr. Callahan owns the road. Your association has a contract for access, and it appears you're in breach of that contract. This is a civil matter."

"He can't trap us in here!" Diane shrieked.

"He hasn't," Miller pointed out patiently. "You're free to walk out. Emergency vehicles can get through if needed because the fire department has the master key to that padlock type. But as for your cars? He has every right to close his private road to vehicular traffic if you haven't paid your toll."

The crowd of residents had gathered near the gate, listening in stunned silence. George Henderson—the retired teacher with the bird feeders—stepped forward from the crowd.

"Diane," George said, his voice surprisingly loud. "How much is the invoice?"

"That doesn't matter!" Diane snapped. "We don't capitulate to terrorists!"

"It's eight thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars," I announced to the crowd. "For the gate your food truck destroyed during the showcase. I gave her thirty days to pay it out of the HOA insurance or general fund. She chose to issue me fake fines instead."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The residents of Lake View Pines were wealthy. Eight grand split thirty-four ways was roughly two hundred and fifty dollars a household. They were currently losing more than that in missed morning meetings.

"Diane," George Henderson said, pulling a checkbook from his jacket pocket. "Is this true?"

"He's trying to extort us! I am protecting neighborhood aesthetics!"