The filing hit the subdivision like a thunderclap. Some neighbors finally exhaled—someone had challenged years of petty control. Others recoiled—court meant drama. Colleen moved fast, canvassing door-to-door with typed letters that framed Adrian as a troublemaker “destabilizing” the community and secretly recording her.
“Colleen,” Mark said on his porch, uncomfortable, “did you list his home online?”
“It was a statement,” she replied, waving it off. “He’s twisting it. Leadership requires hard choices.”
That night, a police cruiser slowed in front of Adrian’s house. Two officers stepped out.
“Mr. Layton? We received a call about a disturbance—raised voices, possible aggression.”
“We just got back from dinner,” Adrian said evenly. “No disturbance here.”
Cheryl nodded. “We’ve been gone for hours.”
The officers exchanged looks. “If everything’s fine, we’ll note it.” They left. Adrian watched the taillights fade.
“She’s trying to paint you as unstable,” Cheryl said.
“Then we document that, too,” he replied. “Every false report goes in the file.”
At the weekend potluck in the park, Colleen stood near the dessert table, voice carrying.
“This is what happens when people think they’re above the rules—lawsuits, police, disruption. Is that what any of us want?”
Adrian walked over, jaw set. “If you’re going to talk about me, say it to my face.”
“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” she said. “The community knows who I am—what I stand for—and what you did.”
“They know you listed my home online,” he said. “They know you called in a disturbance that didn’t happen. That isn’t leadership. It’s harassment.”
Denise stood. “He’s right. I saw the listing. Enough is enough.”
Colleen’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t over. You think the law shields you, but this neighborhood runs on trust, and you’ve lost it.”
“No,” Adrian said. “You lost it. A judge will make that clear.”
That night on the porch, Luis handed Adrian a beer. “She’ll fight you tooth and nail.”
“Let her,” Adrian said. “The harder she pushes, the clearer it gets.”
When the hearing date posted, the subdivision divided into two worlds—quiet supporters who’d had enough, and those who clung to Colleen’s version of order. Inside the Collin County courtroom, neighbors filled benches out of curiosity, loyalty, or dread.
Colleen sat with her attorney, Douglas Pratt—sharp-tongued and aggressive. She still had the clipboard, tapping it like a metronome. Judge Mason Carrington took the bench.
“This court is now in session,” he said. “Case No. 22-3549, Layton v. Ashford. Counsel, ready?”
Adrian rose. “Ready, Your Honor.”
Douglas: “Ready for the defense.”
Adrian laid the foundation: screenshots and timestamps of the listing; backyard photos showing current furniture; comments from strangers asking about tours; the clear use of his legal address; the lack of consent.
“As the evidence shows, this wasn’t a joke,” he said. “It was a false listing using my property and identity markers without authorization.”
The judge leaned forward. “These photos appear recent. How did they get online?”
“Ms. Ashford can explain,” Adrian said, pressing play on his phone. Colleen’s voice filled the courtroom: “I did, and maybe now you’ll take the guidelines seriously.”
Douglas jumped up. “Objection—recording without consent.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “Texas is a one‑party consent state. The video stands.”
Adrian continued. “Beyond the listing, Your Honor, here are over thirty notices in two years—about hedge angles and guest parking. Not uniform enforcement, but selective targeting—escalating into harassment.”
Douglas countered. “The HOA exists to maintain standards. My client is unpaid and dedicated. Mr. Layton routinely ignores rules. The listing was an unconventional protest—not malicious.”
The judge’s brow lifted. “Counsel, are you suggesting that listing someone’s home for sale without consent is not malicious?”
“I’m suggesting intent matters,” Douglas said. “There was no profit, no actual sale.”
“Intent doesn’t erase impact,” Adrian replied. “People engaged with the listing. Someone could have arrived at my door expecting a showing. My family’s safety was compromised. Fraud doesn’t require profit—only misrepresentation.”
Denise couldn’t help herself. “He’s right—I saw it. It was his house, unmistakable.”
“Order,” the judge said, gavel light. “Witnesses at the proper time.”
Adrian submitted the unsigned, no‑letterhead “board” notice accusing him of aggression. “Designed to smear without accountability,” he said.
The judge turned to Colleen. “Did you create the listing?”
She shifted. “Yes, but—”
“That’s sufficient for now,” the judge said. “The fact is damning. We’ll hear closings.”
Douglas painted Adrian as a chronic complainer weaponizing his profession. Adrian kept it simple.
“This is about trust,” he said. “When you buy a home in the United States, you believe it’s yours to protect. Ms. Ashford violated that trust by publicly listing my property without consent. If this is excused as ‘symbolic,’ it greenlights harassment cloaked as leadership. That cannot be the precedent.”
The judge nodded. “Ruling to follow.”
Part 3
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