Richard folded the paper.
"Good night."
He turned.
Then stopped.
"I would advise you to be careful about the people you allow into your home."
Angela stared at his back.
"Good night, Richard."
He walked away.
Malik closed the door.
"What was that?"
Angela didn't answer.
She walked to the window.
Across the street, Richard entered his house.
The lights came on.
Malik joined his mother.
"Mom."
"What?"
"Do you know him?"
"Of course."
"No. I mean really know him."
Angela looked at him.
"What are you asking?"
"Did Dad ever have a problem with Richard?"
Her silence answered before her words did.
"Once."
"How bad?"
"Bad enough that your father told me not to get involved."
Malik's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
Angela turned away.
"Because Marcus said some people don't need an enemy. They create one themselves."
Richard Whitmore sat alone in his study.
On the wall behind him hung framed photographs of Brier View Court.
Neighborhood clean-up day.
Holiday gatherings.
HOA award ceremonies.
A photograph of Richard shaking hands with the county commissioner.
Everything in his world had a place.
Everything had a category.
He opened a drawer.
Inside were old HOA records.
He pulled out a folder.
**JOHNSON, MARCUS — PROPERTY COMPLIANCE**
Richard flipped through the pages.
Noise complaints.
Parking complaints.
A dispute about visitors.
Then he reached the oldest document.
A handwritten note.
Richard remembered the day clearly.
Marcus had stood in front of him in the HOA office.
Calm.
Polite.
But there had been something in his eyes.
"You don't get to decide who my family is," Marcus had said.
Richard had responded with the same words he used for everyone.
"I'm simply enforcing community standards."
Marcus had smiled.
"No. You're enforcing your opinion."
Richard had hated that sentence ever since.
He closed the folder.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
"Whitmore."
A voice came through the line.
"Is the Johnson house still there?"
Richard froze.