“Do you have my consent?”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“The association notice constitutes—”
“No.”
He stopped.
I smiled.
“You do not have consent.”
“Mr. Walker, refusing HOA inspection can create additional penalties.”
“Document whatever you believe is appropriate.”
I turned toward the front door.
Derek called after me.
“We can come back with enforcement.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“Please do.”
Then I went inside.
That afternoon, I asked Deputy Chief Alicia Grant for five minutes.
Alicia had worked with me for fourteen years.
She knew when I said five minutes it usually meant forty.
“What are you into?”
“I’m not into anything.”
“You have your witness face.”
“My what?”
“The face you use when you’re pretending you’re not already halfway through an investigation.”
I handed her the three names.
“Can you have someone check these quietly?”
“Reason?”
“Possible false representation connected to private property access.”
She looked at me.
“Your neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
“Should I ask?”
“Not yet.”
Alicia sighed.
“Fine.”
Two hours later, she came back.
Derek Mercer had no inspection license.
Paul Hammond had an active misdemeanor warrant in Cobb County.
Victor Lane had been cited twice for unlicensed contracting.
None had any lawful inspection authority beyond whatever private role Lorraine invented for them.
I told Alicia to stop there.
“Why?”
“Because I’m still a complainant.”
She nodded.
“You planning to recuse?”
“If this becomes criminal.”
She looked at me for a long second.
“You already think it is.”
“I think something smells bad.”
Alicia smiled.
“That car?”
“No.”
“HOA.”
The next escalation came through Caleb.
He was home during fall break.
He went to the community clubhouse gym one afternoon.
When he returned, he walked into the kitchen with his jaw clenched.
“What happened?”
“Tyler.”
I put down the newspaper.
“Talk.”
“He came up to me near the pool.”
“Then?”
“He said you’re making his mother look stupid.”
I waited.
Caleb continued.
“He said his dad could make living here expensive.”
My stomach tightened.
“Exact words?”
“Almost.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Caleb thought.
“Tell your dad he can keep playing sentimental old man, but by Christmas that Chevelle is going to be mine one way or another.”
I took out my phone.
Caleb groaned.
“Dad.”
“Exact wording matters.”
“That’s basically exact.”
“Anybody hear?”
“Two people.”
“Names?”
He gave them.
Then leaned against the counter.
“You knew this was coming.”
“I suspected.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing tonight.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s enough.”
He stared.
I looked toward him.
“Caleb, listen carefully.”
He became quiet.
“If somebody is trying to provoke us, anger helps them.”
“I’m angry.”
“So am I.”
“You don’t look angry.”
“That’s because looking angry is rarely a legal strategy.”
He laughed despite himself.