“Finally.”
Nia continued.
“So verify the county property record.”
Pamela’s smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“Or call the management office. Or call my closing attorney. Or call the listing agent. Or scan the homeowner documents I offered you five minutes ago.”
Pamela’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t need instructions on how this community operates.”
“That’s obvious.”
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
Pamela stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
Nia turned fully toward her.
“Your system failed to find my name, and instead of checking whether the system is wrong, you decided I must be lying.”
Pamela gave a cold laugh.
“Our system does not simply lose homeowners.”
“Apparently it does.”
“No.”
Pamela pointed toward the gate.
“People come here every week claiming they’re visiting someone, delivering something, cleaning something, repairing something. Half the time they don’t know the rules.”
Nia’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t say I was visiting.”
“You don’t belong behind that gate.”
Daniel looked at Pamela.
“Mrs. Whitmore—”
But Pamela kept going.
“Owners live inside. Visitors wait outside until they’re verified.”
Nia’s breathing changed.
She looked at Pamela’s pointing hand.
Then at Daniel’s hand around her wrist.
Then through the bars of the gate toward the home she had spent nearly a year designing, negotiating for, purchasing, and renovating.
When she spoke again, her voice was quiet enough that both of them had to listen.
“You looked at me before you looked at your screen.”
Pamela’s face stiffened.
“What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
Nia looked directly at her.
“I’m telling you what happened.”
Pamela stepped closer.
“I saw someone inside a private entrance who wasn’t on the resident list.”
“You asked the white couple walking ahead of me which house they lived in.”
Pamela opened her mouth.
Nia continued.
“You smiled at them.”
Daniel looked between the two women.
“You didn’t ask for their credential.”
Pamela’s cheeks reddened.
“They are longtime residents.”
“You recognized them.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t recognize me.”
“No.”
“That part makes sense.”
Nia tilted her head.
“But instead of saying, ‘I don’t recognize you,’ you said, ‘You don’t belong here.’”
Pamela’s lips tightened.
“You are deliberately twisting my words.”
“No. I remember them very clearly.”
The landscaping worker by the utility cart looked away when Pamela glanced in his direction.
Pamela saw him.
Her embarrassment became anger.
She pointed again.
“Escort her outside the entrance.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Mrs. Whitmore, maybe we should call management first.”
Pamela snapped her head toward him.
“I am the HOA president.”
“I understand.”
“Then do your job.”
Daniel hesitated.
Nia watched him.
He looked like a man caught between procedure and instinct.
Unfortunately, procedure won.
“Ma’am,” he told Nia, “I’m going to walk you back outside while we sort this out.”
Nia looked at his hand.
“You’re already holding me.”
Daniel immediately loosened his grip slightly.
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
He swallowed.
Nia took a breath.
Then another.
She could feel the anger pounding behind her ribs.