“The HOA controls this property.”
“No.”
“I have documents.”
“So do I.”
She looked at the leather portfolio.
“Fake documents?”
The Homeowner almost smiled.
Then she dialed.
“911, what is the location of your emergency?”
The HOA President immediately raised her voice.
“I’m at the old West Ridge Fuel station on Harrison Boulevard.”
The Homeowner looked toward the broken window.
“Old,” he repeated quietly.
She ignored him.
“There’s a suspicious man here who has broken into the station.”
The Homeowner’s eyebrows lifted.
One of the customers recording whispered:
“Oh, that's bad.”
The dispatcher’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Is anyone injured?”
“No, but he is aggressive.”
The Homeowner looked around as though searching for the aggression.
The HOA President continued.
“He refuses to identify himself.”
“You never asked.”
She covered the phone.
“Do not interrupt me.”
Then back to dispatch:
“He claims he owns the station, but this property belongs under HOA control.”
The dispatcher asked another question.
The woman answered:
“No weapons that I can see.”
The Homeowner’s expression sharpened slightly.
“Why are you introducing weapons into the call?”
She pointed.
“See?”
She told dispatch.
“He’s escalating.”
The Homeowner took one slow step backward.
Then another.
He positioned himself beneath the exterior camera.
Both hands visible.
Portfolio tucked against his side.
“I’m standing still.”
The woman kept talking.
“Yes.”
“Yes, please send officers immediately.”
She ended the call.
Then smiled.
“You should have left when I told you.”
The Homeowner looked through the broken window.
A woman inside the store stood behind the counter.
Black polo.
Employee badge.
She had not moved since the brick came through.
The HOA President saw her.
Her expression changed.
“Who is that?”
The Homeowner answered:
“My employee.”
“Another trespasser.”
The employee looked at him.
He shook his head slightly.
Do not engage.
The HOA President stepped toward the entrance.
“You need to come outside.”
The employee remained still.
“I said come outside.”
The Homeowner moved sideways, blocking the doorway without approaching her.
“No.”
The woman glared.
“You don't get to stop me.”
“I absolutely get to stop you from entering my business after you threw a brick through the window.”
“This isn't your business.”
The Homeowner glanced toward the road.
“Then I suppose the arriving vehicles can help us clarify that.”