Nia set her phone on the kitchen island.
“For what?”
“I should’ve walked out there sooner.”
“You didn’t know what was happening.”
“I saw the security officer.”
“You were unloading equipment.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I should’ve recognized something was wrong.”
Nia leaned against the counter.
Her wrist was red.
Marcus noticed.
His face hardened.
“Did he do that?”
“He was following instructions.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
Nia looked toward the windows.
“It doesn’t.”
Marcus remained quiet.
He had worked with Nia long enough to know she preferred silence to sympathy when she was thinking.
After a minute, he asked, “Want me to call the attorney?”
Nia shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to know what happened first.”
Marcus folded his arms.
“You think Pamela deleted your access?”
“I think something happened to it.”
“That woman knew the old owner.”
“She also knew the sale price.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You noticed that too.”
Nia gave him a tired look.
“Hard not to.”
Her phone buzzed.
An email.
Bellweather Heights Homeowners Association.
Subject: ACCESS STATUS CLARIFICATION.
Nia opened it.
The message was from Pamela.
It had been sent less than five minutes after Nia entered the house.
Dear Ms. Carter,
This afternoon’s unfortunate misunderstanding resulted from your resident credentials not appearing in the active Bellweather database. Community security acted according to standard procedure based on the information available at the time.
Now that your residency has been verbally verified, we will work with management to resolve any administrative discrepancy.
We appreciate your cooperation and understanding.
Regards,
Pamela Whitmore
HOA President
Marcus watched Nia’s face.
“What?”
Nia handed him the phone.
He read it.
Then laughed in disbelief.
“She wrote ‘verbally verified’?”
“Yes.”
“The house literally opened for you.”
“Apparently my own front door is hearsay.”
Marcus read the email again.
“No apology.”
“No.”
“No mention of grabbing you.”
“No.”
“No mention of her saying you didn’t belong.”
“No.”
Marcus returned the phone.
“What are you going to do?”
Nia looked toward the gate beyond the distant trees.
“I’m going to ask for records.”
That night, Nia did not call a lawyer.
She wrote an email.
It was short.
She asked for the following:
Her complete homeowner registration record.
All changes made to her gate-access profile during the previous thirty days.
The name or role of anyone who had edited the record.
The written security procedure used that afternoon.
The incident report.
Any board policy describing when a resident could be physically removed from a common entrance.
She copied the community management company.
Then she added one final sentence.
Please preserve all relevant digital records, including deletion history and administrative access logs.
Marcus had suggested that phrase.