As he walked away, Elijah saw him exchange a quiet word with Vivien. She stopped fuming and looked toward the parking lot, where the blue Mustang gleamed beneath a floodlight.

Gregory took out his phone and photographed the rear license plate.

He never asked permission.

CHAPTER 6: THE SECOND REQUEST

On Saturday, Logan returned with two friends, Mason and Theo. Elijah was mowing the lawn when the boys cut across the driveway.

“We figured you might’ve changed your mind,” Logan called. “Just around the block.”

“I haven’t.”

Mason laughed, the nervous laugh of someone who expected the situation to be funny if the important person laughed first. Theo stayed near the curb and watched Elijah’s garage camera.

“My mom says you aren’t even the registered owner,” Logan said.

The lawn mower stopped.

Elijah lifted his head slowly. “What makes her say that?”

“She checked.”

“Checked what?”

“The paperwork. The license plate. Whatever. She says your name doesn’t match.”

The title transfer. The duplicate-record inquiry. Gregory’s strange questions.

Three separate things clicked together in Elijah’s mind, but not yet into a shape he could name.

“You need to leave,” he said.

“You can’t just bully us off the street.”

“You’re on my driveway. I am asking you to leave my property.”

Logan took a step closer. “Or what?”

Elijah did not raise his voice. “Or you’ll explain why you stayed after being told to go.”

Mason tugged Logan’s sleeve. “Come on, man.”

Theo had already turned toward the street.

Logan stayed long enough to make a final promise.

“You’re going to wish you gave me the keys.”

That evening, Sandra stopped by with a plastic envelope.

Inside was a copy of a towing invoice from two years earlier. A neighbor had given it to her after the meeting. The listed vendor was Sterling Asset Recovery. The signature authorizing removal was Vivien Hartman’s.

“That isn’t unusual by itself,” Elijah said.

“Look at the time.”

The vehicle had been picked up before the warning period ended.

“Maybe the date was wrong.”

Sandra handed him another invoice.

Then a third.

On all three, a tow had occurred before the final notice had officially been delivered.

Elijah said nothing for a long moment.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking,” Sandra said.

“I’m thinking it needs an independent look.”

He did not use his office to pull private records. He did what he would have told anyone else to do: saved the documents, asked Sandra to keep the originals, and sent a written request for the HOA’s contract with the towing company.

His phone buzzed just before midnight.

An unknown number had sent a photograph of his Mustang with the garage door closed.

Underneath were five words.

SOME THINGS CAN BE REMOVED.