Suddenly, the weather station didn't seem like the real issue.
The real issue was what the weather station could prove.
The following night, I woke to a metallic sound outside.
I checked my security camera.
A man stood beside my weather station.
He was wearing a dark jacket and carrying a ladder.
I called the police.
By the time officers arrived, he was gone.
But the camera had recorded everything.
The next morning, I sent the footage to the HOA.
Lorraine replied within seven minutes.
Our contractor was inspecting community property.
I stared at the message.
My weather station was not community property.
I called the police department.
An officer reviewed the footage.
"Do you know the man?"
"No."
"Did the HOA authorize him?"
"They claim they did."
"That's not the same as having permission to enter your property."
I asked whether I could file a trespassing report.
"Yes."
I did.
Then I checked my weather station.
The anemometer had been turned slightly.
The rain gauge had been opened.
Nothing was broken.
Someone had been examining it.
That was worse.
They weren't trying to destroy it.
They were trying to understand what it could tell them.
I backed up every file.
Then I bought a second data logger.
I installed it inside the house.
If someone destroyed the station, I would still have the historical records.
That afternoon, Marcus called.
"I found something."
"What?"
"The drainage permit."
"And?"
"It was amended."
"How?"
"Someone changed the projected stormwater volume."
I closed my eyes.
"By how much?"
"Almost forty percent."
"That's impossible."
"Exactly."
Marcus sent me the permit.
The original calculation estimated a peak stormwater flow of 18,000 cubic feet per minute.
The amended calculation showed 11,200.
Same neighborhood.
Same land.
Same drainage basin.
Different number.
I checked the signatures.
The original engineer had signed the first plan.
The amendment had been signed by a consulting engineer.
I searched the name.
The engineer now worked for a company contracted by the HOA.
That wasn't illegal by itself.
But the timing was suspicious.
I called Marcus.
"Can the amendment explain the flooding?"
"Absolutely."
"Then why did the county approve it?"
"I don't know."
"Can you investigate?"
"I already am."
He paused.
"Daniel, there's another problem."
"What?"
"The county's current drainage map doesn't match the subdivision's actual drainage."
I looked at my wall map.
"Meaning?"
"Someone built something that isn't on the official map."
I thought about the concrete channel beneath the mound.
The missing drainage route.
The filled section.
The unexplained flooding.
Then I remembered something.
The HOA had recently announced plans to install a new landscaped walking trail near the retention pond.
A trail.
Over the drainage channel.
I called Lorraine.
"Why is the HOA building over the drainage route?"
Silence.
"Where did you get that information?"
"That's not an answer."
"You are making accusations."
"I'm asking questions."
"You need to stop interfering with HOA operations."
"And you need to stop trying to remove my weather station."
She hung up.
Twenty minutes later, my phone received an automated security alert.
Someone had tried to access my weather station account.
The login attempt came from an IP address associated with the HOA management company.
I saved the evidence.
Then I knew this was no longer a dispute over appearance.
Someone wanted the data.
Three days later, the forecast changed.
A major storm system was moving toward the region.
The county issued a heavy rainfall warning.
I watched the barometer fall.
The wind shifted.
My station recorded a steady increase in pressure changes.
At 6:14 p.m., the rain began.
At 7:03, the rainfall rate reached three inches per hour.
At 7:40, water began moving across the lower street.
I called the county emergency line.
"There's flooding developing in Cedar Ridge."
"We've received several reports."
"Check the eastern drainage channel."
"What channel?"
I sent photographs.
Then the HOA sent an emergency message to residents.
Remain indoors. The drainage system is operating normally.
That sentence frightened me more than the storm.
Because I knew it wasn't normal.
At 8:16 p.m., the retention pond overflowed.
Water poured across the walking trail.