“In a way.”
“What way?”
Walter looked toward the road.
“She called you uncooperative.”
“That was generous.”
“She implied you were hiding something.”
I looked toward the house.
“What does she think I'm hiding?”
Walter shrugged.
“People like Carol don't need to know what's behind a door before they want the key.”
I remembered that sentence.
I would remember it for years.
The Cameras
Over the next two months, Carol escalated.
Her letters became longer.
Her fines became larger.
Her language became more personal while pretending to remain administrative.
Community safety.
Access obligation.
Compliance review.
Administrative refusal.
Pattern of noncooperation.
I kept everything.
Every letter.
Every envelope.
Every email.
Every certified-mail receipt.
Every photograph.
Every fine ledger.
Then my cameras started catching her.
Carol standing at the gate with a clipboard.
Carol photographing through the bars.
Carol measuring the fence with a tape measure.
Carol crouching near the keypad.
Carol leaning between the gate panels, staring toward the house.
Then one Sunday afternoon, something more serious happened.
I had accidentally left a side access panel unlatched.
The camera caught Carol opening it.
She stepped one foot onto my property.
Then she apparently realized what she was doing and stepped back.
I saved the footage in three different locations.
I didn't confront her.
I didn't yell.
I didn't give her the angry homeowner she wanted.
I documented.
Walter later told me I wasn't the first person she had targeted.
There had been a retired couple she had fined until they eventually sold.
A single mother accused of running an unauthorized business because delivery vans stopped by too often.
A veteran cited over a wheelchair ramp Carol claimed damaged the neighborhood's appearance.
A family pushed into replacing an entire fence because Carol disliked the color.
Most people eventually gave up.
They paid.
They apologized.