She picked up two envelopes before he could.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She stood.
Triumphant.
“I knew it.”
The homeowner stared.
“What exactly do you think you know?”
She looked at the envelopes.
One was addressed to him.
The other had an unfamiliar legal notation.
She ignored that.
“You’ve been stealing mail.”
The homeowner's expression changed from anger to disbelief.
“From myself?”
“You expect me to believe every letter in that pile belongs to you?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
He stepped closer.
“Give me my mail.”
The HOA President backed away.
“No.”
He stared.
“You just took letters from my hands and now you're accusing me of mail theft.”
Her face tightened.
“I’m preserving evidence.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The HOA President’s cheeks reddened.
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“It’s insane.”
She looked toward the thick packet lying on the driveway.
The corner had torn slightly when it fell.
A white document was visible inside.
The homeowner saw it.
So did she.
Before he could stop her, she bent down.
Picked it up.
Opened the packet.
The Black Homeowner’s voice dropped.
“Do not open that.”
She pulled the document halfway out.
“You don't get to give me orders.”
“That is private.”
“If it's private, maybe you shouldn't leave it on the ground.”
“You knocked it out of my hands.”
The HOA President ignored him.
Her eyes moved across the first page.
She did not understand what she was reading.
Not yet.
The homeowner stepped forward.
She backed away again.
“I’m calling the police.”
He stopped.
Then something almost amused crossed his face.
“Please.”
The HOA President blinked.
“What?”
“Call them.”
His calmness disturbed her.
She lifted her phone.
“You think I won't?”
“I hope you do.”
She dialed.
The Black Homeowner stood in his driveway, arms folded.
Inside his house, the front door remained open.
From the street, the scene probably looked ridiculous.
A man standing outside his own home.
An HOA President holding his mail.
Her calling police.
The homeowner glanced toward the document.
He could see enough of the header to confirm it.
DNA PARENTAGE ANALYSIS.
The page beneath it likely contained the result.
He had imagined opening that document alone.
Maybe at his kitchen table.
Maybe pouring a drink first.
He had not imagined the HOA President ripping it open in his driveway while reporting him to police.
Then again, none of the previous three months had been imaginable.
The HOA President finished the call.
“They’re sending someone.”