I decided not to argue with him anymore.
Instead, I started documenting everything.
Every notice.
Every photograph.
Every email.
Every time his truck blocked my garage.
I installed a camera facing the driveway.
I created a folder on my computer.
I labeled it:
CEDAR RIDGE HOA
Emily noticed.
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping records."
"Do you think this is going to get worse?"
I looked at the camera feed.
Rick's white truck was parked across our garage again.
"Yes."
Emily sighed.
"How much worse?"
I watched the truck.
"I don't know yet."
Then I smiled.
"But I think Rick is about to find out something important."
"What?"
"Being HOA president doesn't make you the owner of the street."
I didn't know it yet, but that distinction was going to become the most important fact in the entire neighborhood.
The first thing I learned was that Rick understood the HOA rules very well.
The second thing I learned was that he understood them selectively.
He knew exactly how to quote a rule when it benefited him.
He simply ignored the rules when they didn't.
The biggest problem was that most homeowners never bothered to read the governing documents.
Neither had I.
Not before this.
So one evening, after Emily went to bed, I sat at the kitchen table with a laptop, a cup of coffee, and nearly four hundred pages of HOA documents.
By two in the morning, I had developed a headache.
By three, I had learned something interesting.
The HOA did not own the roads.
The roads were public.
That meant the association had authority over certain private areas and community property, but it did not have the authority to decide who could legally park on a public street.
There were municipal parking laws.
There were restrictions concerning driveways and emergency access.
There were procedures for enforcement.
And there were limitations on what the HOA could do.
Rick had been acting as though the entire neighborhood was his private kingdom.
It wasn't.
I printed the relevant pages.
The next morning, I showed them to Emily.
She read them.
Then she looked at me.
"So he's wrong."
"Yes."
"Completely wrong?"
"On this issue, yes."
She smiled.
"Then why haven't you told him?"
"Because I already told him."
"And?"
"He didn't care."
Emily nodded slowly.
"So what now?"
"I don't know."
Then the answer came.
It arrived in the form of another parking incident.
It was Saturday afternoon.
There was a pool party at the community center.
Cars filled the parking lot.
Rick's truck arrived last.
I watched from the window as he drove past several empty street spaces.
Then he stopped directly across our garage.
I grabbed my phone.
Emily looked at me.
"Are you going over there?"
"No."
"You're not?"
"No."
I opened the city parking enforcement website.
I called the listed number.
I explained the situation.
A dispatcher took down the address.
Twenty minutes later, a tow truck arrived.
I went outside.
The driver stepped out.
"You're the homeowner?"
"Yes."
He looked at Rick's truck.
"Is this the vehicle?"
"Yes."
He studied the license plate.
Then he looked at me.
"There's a problem."
"What?"
He lowered his voice.
"Our company has the HOA contract."
"So?"
"We're not allowed to tow HOA-authorized vehicles without approval."
I stared at him.
"He's blocking my garage."
"I understand."
"Then tow him."
"I can't."
"Why?"
The driver hesitated.
"Because Mr. Coleman signs the contract."
I looked at the truck.
Then at the driver.
"You're telling me the person violating my property access is also the person who decides whether your company gets paid?"
The driver looked uncomfortable.
"Pretty much."
He apologized.
Then he left.
I called the police.
An officer arrived.
He examined the situation.
He agreed that the truck was improperly parked.
He issued a citation.
But the city had a policy that prevented immediate towing in this particular circumstance unless there was a safety emergency.
Rick eventually came outside.
He saw the ticket.
He ripped it from the windshield.
He walked toward my house.
"You called the police?"
"Yes."
"You really think that's going to scare me?"
"No."
He stepped closer.
"You're making a serious mistake."
"I don't think so."
"You've been warned."
"By whom?"
He pointed at himself.
"Me."
I smiled.
"That's the problem."
He stared at me.
I continued.
"You think your title makes you more powerful than everyone else."
Rick's face turned red.
"You'll regret this."
He turned around.
Then he walked away.
I went back inside.
Emily was waiting.
"What did he say?"
"That I'll regret this."
"Are you worried?"
I thought for a moment.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he still doesn't understand."
"Understand what?"
"He's fighting the wrong battle."
That night, I began researching everything.
Not just parking laws.
I checked the property plat.
I checked the city ordinances.
I checked the HOA bylaws.
I checked the articles of incorporation.
I checked the towing contract.
I checked the enforcement procedures.
And I discovered something even more interesting.
The HOA's own rules prohibited the association from selectively enforcing regulations.
If Rick continued issuing fines against us as retaliation for challenging him, he was potentially exposing the association to liability.
I printed that section too.
Then I created a spreadsheet.
Date.
Time.
Vehicle.
Location.
Violation.
Photograph.
Video.
Witness.
Response.
I entered every incident.
Within two weeks, the spreadsheet contained thirty-seven entries.
Emily looked at it one evening.
"This is getting serious."
"It already was."
"You've got enough evidence to prove a pattern."
"That's the idea."
She leaned against the counter.
"What are you planning?"
"I don't know yet."
She laughed.
"You always say that right before doing something ridiculous."
"Ridiculous?"
"Remember when our old landlord refused to return our security deposit?"
"Yes."
"You read the state statute, sent him a seventeen-page letter, and he mailed the money back the next day."
"I was right."
"I know."
She smiled.
"That's what worries me."
I kissed her forehead.
"Don't worry."
Then I looked at the spreadsheet.
"I won't do anything illegal."
That was important.
Because I didn't want revenge that could be turned against me.
I wanted something much simpler.
I wanted Rick to experience the consequences of his own behavior.
And I wanted those consequences to be completely legal.
A few days later, Emily and I finalized plans for a three-week trip to visit her parents overseas.
We had been saving for it for two years.
The tickets were booked.
The hotel was reserved.
We would leave on a Friday night.
That gave me just enough time.
I opened a classified-ad website.
I searched for used cars.
Not good cars.
Not reliable cars.
Not beautiful cars.
I searched for terrible cars.
Cars that nobody wanted.
Cars with ugly paint.
Cars with dented doors.
Cars that looked like they had survived three decades of bad decisions.
Emily walked into the room.
"What are you doing?"
I turned the screen toward her.
She stared.
"Why are you looking at a minivan that looks like it was abandoned behind a gas station?"
"Because it's cheap."