The investigation now had something more substantial than the frustration of homeowners.

It had a worker describing how the system operated and offering ordinary records that could be tested against his account.

CHAPTER TWELVE: NAOMI’S QUESTION

Naomi found me at the dining table that evening, staring at the HOA ledger instead of eating the soup she had made.

She pulled out the chair opposite mine and waited until I looked up.

“Are you investigating your neighbors or trying to run a second police department from our house?” she asked.

The question was uncomfortable because she knew exactly where to press.

I told her I had stayed away from official decisions and was following Cecily’s advice.

Naomi pointed at the three stacks of paper covering the table.

“You are still carrying all of this as if every mistake will become your responsibility unless you personally discover it.”

I tried to explain why the invoices mattered to residents who could barely afford their monthly dues.

She agreed with the concern but did not release me from her question.

“We raised Simone and her brother to know that one person cannot rescue an entire institution by refusing to sleep,” she said.

I closed the ledger.

Our son Marcus lived in Nashville and worked as a respiratory therapist, and he had learned his stubbornness from both of us.

Last winter he had reminded me that I was allowed to be a father and grandfather without being the solution to every emergency.

I had promised to listen, then returned to the office before dawn the next day.

Naomi reached across the table and turned my hand palm upward.

“I married Darnell,” she said.

“The city hired Chief Okafor.”

I laughed despite myself because she had used that line before when budget hearings took over our weekends.

She asked me to leave the papers alone for the night and help choose a birthday present for our youngest grandson.

I moved the files into my office and returned with two cups of soup.

We spent the next hour discussing bicycles, school shoes, and the fact that our grandson wanted a telescope larger than his bedroom window.

The conversation did not fix the HOA, but it returned me to the part of my life Bettina could not control.

Before bed, I sent Cecily a short message saying that the remaining records could be reviewed on her schedule rather than mine.

She replied with a single sentence telling me to enjoy the evening.