Patricia looked toward the entrance. “Who is this resident?”
Jordan glanced at his watch. “You’ll find out shortly.”
That was when Daniel Cross, the evening security supervisor, approached
from the clubhouse. He was in his late fifties, with a neat gray
mustache and a radio clipped to his belt. Patricia turned toward him
with visible relief.
“Daniel, thank goodness. I need this man removed.”
Daniel stopped when he recognized Jordan.
“Mr. Ellis?”
Jordan nodded. “Good afternoon, Daniel.”
Patricia stared between them. “You know him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me he was a resident?”
“He isn’t.”
Patricia lifted her chin as if the answer proved her point.
Daniel continued, “He’s here at the invitation of Mrs. Evelyn Hart. He’s
scheduled to meet with Mr. Graham Pike and the board’s property
committee at four-thirty.”
Patricia’s expression changed.
“Evelyn Hart?”
“Yes.”
Patricia looked back at Jordan. “What does Mrs. Hart have to do with
this?”
Daniel hesitated. Jordan gave him a small nod.
“Mr. Ellis represents her,” Daniel said. “He’s reviewing the
association’s property and security records.”
Patricia’s hand tightened around her clipboard.
“That’s not a matter for the pool.”
Jordan replied, “No. It isn’t.”
He walked toward the clubhouse with Zoe beside him. Daniel followed a
few steps behind. Patricia remained near the pool, watching them
disappear through the glass doors.
For several seconds, she could not move.
Then she noticed the book Jordan had left on the table.
She picked it up, intending to return it to the security desk. A folded
white card slipped from between the pages and landed near her shoe. She
picked it up.
Six words were written in black ink.
DO NOT TRUST THE CAMERA ARCHIVE.
Patricia read the sentence twice.
Then she looked up at the nearest security camera mounted beneath the
clubhouse roof.
For the first time in fourteen years, she wondered who else might be
watching.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Graham Pike was waiting in the conference room when Jordan arrived. He
was sixty-four, silver-haired, and dressed in a navy suit that looked
expensive without appearing flashy. He had been president of Briarstone
Reserve for eleven years and had built his reputation on financial
discipline, property values, and a promise that the community would
never become “one of those neighborhoods where nobody knows who is
coming through the gates.”
He stood and offered Jordan his hand. “Mr. Ellis. I appreciate you
coming.”
“Thank you for making time.”
Pike glanced at Zoe. “And this must be your daughter.”
“Zoe.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Zoe smiled and sat in the chair Daniel pulled out for her. Jordan placed
his briefcase on the table and removed three folders. The first
contained the invitation letter from Evelyn Hart. The second held a
certified property survey. The third contained a set of documents copied
from the county recorder’s office.
Pike’s smile faded when he saw the survey.
“I thought we were discussing the camera contract.”
“We are,” Jordan said. “But the camera contract is connected to the land
beneath the clubhouse.”
Pike sat down.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Mrs. Hart owns the original parcel on which the recreation building and
part of the eastern access road were constructed. Her late husband
granted the association a limited easement twenty-two years ago. The
easement allowed access for maintenance, utilities, and emergency
services. It did not transfer ownership.”
Pike nodded impatiently. “That was settled years ago.”
“Was it?”
“Of course.”
Jordan slid the certified survey across the table. “Then you should have
no objection to reviewing the current recorded deed.”
Pike glanced at it.
The color drained from his face.
The clubhouse, pool, and security office sat partly on a strip of land
still legally owned by Evelyn Hart. The association had been treating
that land as common property for years, collecting fees, approving
construction, and authorizing improvements without recording the
additional easement required by the original agreement.
Pike leaned back.
“This is a technical issue.”
“It is a title issue.”
“Mrs. Hart has been a resident for decades. She knows the association
has maintained the property.”
“Maintenance does not automatically establish ownership.”
Pike tapped the survey. “What does she want?”
Jordan opened the second folder.
“She wants the association to stop using her property beyond the
recorded easement, disclose every contract involving the parcel, and
correct the public records.”
Pike stared at him. “That could be expensive.”
“Then the association should have addressed it when she first raised the
issue.”
“When did she raise it?”
“Four years ago. Three written letters. Two certified notices. One
request for a board hearing.”
Pike looked toward the window.
“I don’t remember those.”
Jordan placed copies of the letters on the table.
“Your office received all three.”
Pike did not touch them.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the air-conditioning.
Then the conference-room door opened.
Patricia entered without knocking.
“Graham, we need to speak privately.”
Pike looked irritated. “We’re in a meeting.”
“I know who he is now.”
Jordan glanced at her. “Good afternoon again, Ms. Weller.”
Patricia ignored him.
“Evelyn Hart has no authority to interfere with our security system.”
Pike looked at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“The cameras. He’s here to challenge the camera contract.”
Jordan closed the folder.
“Actually, I’m here because Mrs. Hart discovered that the camera system
has been recording more than the association publicly disclosed.”
Pike’s expression hardened.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“I’m not making an accusation. I’m asking for records.”
Jordan placed a printed diagram on the table. It showed the location of
twenty-eight cameras throughout the development. Most covered gates,
roads, and common areas. But six were positioned in ways that raised
questions.
One faced the private patio of a resident who had complained about
construction noise. Another covered the side entrance of a home owned by
an elderly couple who had refused to sell. A third appeared to record
the rear windows of a property bordering the clubhouse.
Pike leaned forward.
“Those are security cameras.”