Sandra’s car was not in my garage. I noticed this as we pulled up. The garage door was closed, which was how I’d left it, but as I walked up and punched in the remote-enabled keypad code, and the door rolled up, the garage was empty, clean, just my space, exactly as it should be.
There was, on the concrete floor of the garage, a thin rectangular patch of slightly darker concrete where Sandra’s Lexus had sat for 2 weeks. A faint tire impression. That was all.
I found out later, from Tom, who had been following all of this with great enthusiasm, and had taken it upon himself to document events in my absence like a very enthusiastic neighborhood journalist. What had happened?
On day 10 of my trip, Sandra’s new attorney had contacted Patricia with a softened position. Instead of legal threats, they were now asking if there was any way to resolve the situation collaboratively. Patricia had replied that the homeowner would be returning soon, and that any resolution would need to address the unauthorized use of my garage as a first step, which would require Sandra to remove her vehicle. Since the security bar could only be removed from the inside, this required me to be home or to authorize someone to do it. Patricia had told them I was unavailable until I returned, and that the matter could be discussed at that point.
“What actually got the car out?” Tom told me with barely concealed delight, was the HOA board.
On day 11, the HOA board, in a preliminary ruling as part of their ongoing review of Sandra’s conduct, had formally determined that her use of my garage constituted a violation of the community standards clause regarding respecting the property of fellow homeowners. They had also, in the same ruling, noted that her access to my garage via a code she hadn’t been authorized to possess, was a matter they were referring to local authorities for their own review. That word, authorities, had apparently moved things along very quickly.
On day 12, Sandra’s new attorney contacted Patricia again and asked, with considerably more humility than the first call, whether I would be willing to have a trusted representative enter my garage and remove the security bar so that Sandra’s vehicle could be retrieved. I had, via Patricia, agreed on the condition that Sandra sign a written statement acknowledging that she had accessed my garage without authorization, and that her vehicle’s presence there had not been with my consent. She had signed it. Tom had been the one to remove the bar. He’d taken a photo of the empty garage afterward and sent it to me with a single emoji, party popper.
