It looked remarkably similar to mine.
I returned home and compared the pictures.
Then I noticed something.
The HOA's device faced the western slope.
Mine faced the eastern drainage basin.
They weren't measuring the same thing.
That evening, I received an email from Lorraine.
Subject: Final Compliance Demand
The message said the station had to be removed immediately.
Attached was a document titled:
EMERGENCY ARCHITECTURAL ENFORCEMENT ORDER
There was no emergency.
At least, not one I knew about.
I printed the document.
Then I looked at the timestamp.
The order had been approved at 7:42 that morning.
There was one problem.
The HOA board meeting wasn't until Friday.
It was Wednesday.
How had the board approved an emergency order two days before its scheduled meeting?
I started digging.
The HOA meeting was held in the clubhouse.
Twenty-three homeowners attended.
Lorraine sat at the front table with the other board members.
I brought a binder.
She saw it and frowned.
"Mr. Harper, this meeting concerns your violation."
"I know."
"You have been given adequate notice."
"I disagree."
She tapped the microphone.
"The board will allow you three minutes."
I stood.
"I have reviewed the governing documents. There is no prohibition against weather stations."
Lorraine interrupted.
"The board has architectural authority."
"Within the limits of the covenants."
"Correct."
"And the covenants don't prohibit this equipment."
"We disagree."
I opened my binder.
"Then let's discuss why you want it removed."
The room became quiet.
I displayed a chart showing rainfall measurements from my station compared with the official county station.
Then I showed flood photographs.
Then I showed the HOA's own maintenance records.
The dates matched.
Every major flood corresponded with unusually heavy rainfall.
One homeowner raised her hand.
"My basement flooded last September."
Another said, "Mine flooded in May."
A third homeowner said, "The HOA told us it was because our landscaping was wrong."
Lorraine slammed her pen down.
"Mr. Harper, this is irrelevant."
"No. It's directly relevant."
I displayed another chart.
"This is the water level recorded after the August storm."
Nobody spoke.
"The HOA reported two inches of rainfall."
I pointed at my data.
"My station recorded 4.7 inches."
Lorraine's face changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
One of the board members leaned toward her.
"Is that accurate?"
She whispered something.
I continued.
"The county's radar estimate was closer to five inches."
Someone in the audience said, "Then why did the HOA report two?"
Lorraine looked around.
"These measurements are not official."
"Neither are yours."
That ended the argument.
The board voted to postpone enforcement.
For the first time, Lorraine looked worried.
After the meeting, an older homeowner named Evelyn approached me.
"You've found something," she whispered.
"What?"
She looked toward the clubhouse.
"The drainage pond wasn't built the way they said it was."
Then she walked away.
Evelyn lived two houses from the retention pond.
She invited me inside the following morning.
"I've kept these for twenty years," she said.
She opened a cardboard box.
Inside were copies of subdivision plans, construction photographs, letters, and county inspection records.
"I knew someone would eventually need them."
I examined the documents.
The original engineering plans showed a drainage channel running beneath the eastern road.
But the final subdivision map showed something different.
The channel had been rerouted.
I looked at the date.
The change happened after construction began.
"Why?"
Evelyn shook her head.
"The developer said it was cheaper."
"Was the county notified?"
"I don't know."
I found another document.
A drainage inspection report.
The inspector had written:
Capacity appears inadequate for projected stormwater volume.
Then, in red ink:
Developer to correct before final approval.
There was no correction document.
Instead, the next page showed final approval.
I stared at it.
"How?"
Evelyn lowered her voice.
"The HOA president at the time was the developer's attorney."
I felt a chill.
"Who?"
"Frank Whitmore."
Lorraine's husband.
I looked at the date.
Frank had been involved with Cedar Ridge before Lorraine became HOA president.