Chapter 4 - The HOA Files That Were Supposed to Be Gone
I requested Hawthorne Ridge HOA records as a homeowner.
The current board president, Greg Talbot, seemed confused.
“Douglas?”
“He was president years ago.”
“Right.”
“Are there archived enforcement files?”
Greg laughed apologetically.
“Probably enough paper to insulate every attic in Mecklenburg County.”
Then he told me something important.
The HOA had changed management companies after Douglas died.
Barbara had volunteered to clear old administrative material from a basement room in her house because Douglas had stored association documents there during his presidency.
“Barbara is throwing them away?”
“Old duplicates. Closed violation files. Stuff past the retention period.”
“Who approved that?”
Greg hesitated.
“The prior board.”
“When?”
“I’d have to check.”
I showed him the photograph.
The humor left his face.
“That didn’t come from us.”
“You sure?”
“We photograph violations. We don’t document when kids come home from school.”
Exactly.
Greg called the HOA attorney.
By evening, all record destruction was suspended pending review.
Barbara knocked on my door at 8:10.
Megan stood beside me.
Barbara looked exhausted.
“You went to Greg.”
“Yes.”
“I told you to stay out of this.”
“You had surveillance photos of my family in your trash.”
“They weren’t mine.”
“Whose?”
She looked away.
“Douglas’s.”
Finally.
“Why was he watching my father?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Barbara crossed both arms.
“After Douglas died, I found boxes in the basement. Hundreds of files. Some HOA records. Some personal.”
“Why throw them away?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Because my husband is dead.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Megan stepped forward.
“Barbara, if those records involve homeowners’ financial information, you cannot just dump them at a curb.”
Barbara’s expression flickered.
She knew Megan was right.
Then I asked:
“Was Douglas connected to Maple Crest Residential?”
Barbara looked at me so sharply that I had my answer before she spoke.
“Who told you that name?”
“My father wrote it down.”
She whispered something I almost didn’t hear.
“Of course Frank knew.”
Then she turned and walked away.
I called after her.
“Knew what?”
Barbara stopped at the edge of our driveway.
Without turning, she said:
“That Douglas wasn’t the only person making money.”
May you like
Then she crossed the street.
I spent that entire night wondering who the other person had been.
