By Monday morning, I had almost convinced myself I had overinterpreted Chase’s comment.
Then Denise sent another violation notice.
This one accused me of operating “automotive equipment inconsistent with residential use.”
The attached photograph showed a portable tire inflator beside the Ferrari.
I had used it for less than five minutes.
The image had been taken from the sidewalk.
I responded with the relevant covenant section and asked whether the board had authorized surveillance of my garage.
No one answered.
That evening, Irene came over with a plate of dumplings and an expression that told me she had news.
“I saw Denise standing near your driveway yesterday morning.”
“What time?”
“Around seven-thirty.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking pictures.”
I opened the camera archive.
There she was.
Denise stood on the public sidewalk for nearly four minutes, zooming her phone toward the open garage. Nothing illegal about being on a sidewalk. Nothing illegal about taking a photograph of what was visible.
Still, the behavior fit a pattern.
She was not enforcing a rule.
She was searching for one.
I downloaded the clip.
Two days later, Chase returned.
This time he did not come onto the driveway.
He stood at the curb and called my name.
I walked outside.
“Last chance,” he said.
“For what?”
“The Ferrari. Saturday. Two hours.”
“No.”
He looked toward the garage.
“I could make you famous.”
“I’m good.”
He stepped closer to the curb.
“You really don’t get how things work around here.”
“Then explain it.”
“My mom can make every week annoying.”
There it was.
Not subtle.
Not a joke.
I raised my phone and started recording.
“Say that again.”
His posture changed.
“You’re pathetic.”
“What did you mean about your mother?”
He walked away.
That night I sent the audio to the board.
The vice president, Martin Cole, called me.
“Did he really say that?”
“You heard it.”
“I need to speak with Denise.”
“I would appreciate it.”
Martin sounded embarrassed.
He also sounded worried.
The next day, two of the recent violation notices disappeared from my account without explanation.
That should have been encouraging.
Instead it made me more certain that Denise knew what Chase had been doing.
The event he wanted the Ferrari for was scheduled Saturday night at a new restaurant downtown.
Friday afternoon, he posted a public video teasing “the cleanest supercar in the city” for the launch.
No car was shown.
My friend Lena, who followed several local car pages, sent me the post.
“That better not be yours,” she wrote.
“It won’t be.”
I locked the Ferrari inside the garage Friday night.
I checked the side door.
I checked the overhead garage door.
I armed the alarm.