For nearly two decades, he had helped design filtration, circulation, and water-monitoring systems for municipal facilities, hospitals, and commercial buildings.
He understood swimming pools.
He understood water treatment.
He understood the difference between a legitimate inspection and three women arriving in bathing suits with a cooler.
But he also understood the woman standing before him.
He had spent seven months dealing with her complaints, fabricated regulations, threats, and attempts to gain access to his property.
He knew that shouting would give her another excuse to describe him as aggressive.
So he kept his voice steady.
"The pool is closed for maintenance. You need to leave."
The HOA president folded her arms.
"You're not giving me orders."
He pointed toward the open gate.
"I'm asking you to leave my backyard."
The brunette hesitated.
For a moment, she looked as though she might listen.
But the woman in turquoise laughed.
"Come on. We're already here."
She walked toward the edge of the pool.
The homeowner stepped sideways, blocking the path without touching her.
"Please don't enter the water."
The woman stared at him.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
The blonde president approached.
Her face was flushed with irritation.
"You think because you bought this house, you can ignore the association?"
The homeowner looked toward her.
"Owning my house means I can decide who uses my private swimming pool."
She laughed contemptuously.
"Not when you're subject to HOA oversight."
He shook his head.
"Your association documents do not grant you recreational access to my property."
Her expression twisted.
She stepped forward.
Then shoved his shoulder with both hands.
The movement was sudden enough to make him shift backward.
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do!"
The homeowner stared.
For one moment, anger flashed across his face.
But he did not touch her.
Instead, he reached toward his phone.
"I've already asked you to leave."
The woman in turquoise stepped closer.