He dried his hands slowly.
“Authorized by who?”
“The association.”
“You are the association president.”
“Exactly.”
The Homeowner almost laughed.
But something about the towel on his lounge chair kept him from doing it.
He looked toward it.
The HOA President noticed.
She moved half a step sideways.
Blocking his line of sight.
That was enough.
The Homeowner understood that she did not simply want access to his property.
She wanted him to discover something after she left.
Or she wanted somebody else to discover it.
“Move.”
The HOA President raised her chin.
“You don’t give me orders.”
“Move away from my chair.”
“This pool has generated repeated safety concerns.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“We’ve received complaints.”
“From who?”
“I’m not required to identify residents who report violations.”
The Homeowner took one step forward.
She immediately reached for her phone.
“There.”
She pointed.
“That aggression is exactly what I’ve documented.”
The Homeowner stopped.
He smiled without humor.
“You climbed into my backyard carrying a syringe.”
The HOA President’s expression barely changed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You put it under my towel.”
“Be very careful.”
“You think I didn’t see you?”
Her voice sharpened.
“Careful.”
The Homeowner stared.
The HOA President pointed toward him.
“When police arrive and find controlled substances beside a private pool, your word against mine is not going to go the way you think.”
There it was.
No longer subtle.
No misunderstanding.
The Homeowner’s face became completely calm.
That unsettled her.
She expected shouting.
Threats.
Maybe anger she could record.
Instead he turned away.
He walked toward the covered porch.
The HOA President frowned.
“Where are you going?”
The Homeowner picked up the waterproof tablet mounted beside the sliding door.
He tapped the screen.
Four windows appeared.
The first showed the street.
Her SUV parking approximately ninety seconds before she entered the yard.
The second showed the side of the house.
The HOA President walking along the exterior fence.
Something already visible in her hand.
The third showed the western property line.
Her climbing the fence.
The fourth camera pointed directly toward the pool.
The angle was high enough to show nearly the entire patio.
Including the lounge chair.
Including the towel.
Including her hand.
The HOA President’s face changed.
The Homeowner enlarged the final recording.
Her own image crouched beside the chair.
The capped syringe clearly visible.
Then disappearing beneath his towel.
He looked toward her.
“They don’t need my word.”
She said nothing.
The Homeowner tapped another icon.
“Audio too.”
Her lips parted.
He replayed the last thirty seconds.
Her own voice emerged from the porch speakers.
When police arrive and find controlled substances beside a private pool, your word against mine is not going to go the way you think.
Silence.
The Homeowner lowered the tablet.
“I think it’s going exactly the way I thought.”
The HOA President’s confidence collapsed for only a second.