“You think this gate makes you untouchable?”
Then she threw the stone.
It traveled over the gate at an angle.
For a split second, I watched it move through the bright sunlight.
Then it struck the guesthouse window.
Glass exploded across the covered porch.
The sound was enormous.
My daughter screamed from inside the house.
I jumped backward.
For a moment, my mind went blank.
Then I looked toward the shattered window.
The stone had landed among fragments of glass several feet from the pool deck.
I turned toward the woman.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
She stood perfectly still.
For one second, she looked surprised by what she'd done.
Then she seemed to recover.
She raised her chin.
And said something I still find difficult to believe.
“Look what you've done.”
I stared.
“What?”
She pointed toward the broken window.
“Now you've damaged association-controlled property.”
I felt my mouth fall open.
“You threw the stone!”
She shook her head.
“I didn't touch your window.”
The older man beside her stared.
His face had gone pale.
Several residents began whispering.
A woman stepped backward.
The president looked around.
Then raised her voice.
“Everybody saw how aggressive he became!”
I gripped my towel.
The anger rushing through me was almost overwhelming.
But I remembered my wife.
Don't let her turn you into somebody you're not.
I took a slow breath.
Then another.
“Ma'am, get away from my gate.”
She pointed toward the keypad.
“Not until you give me the access code.”
I looked toward the broken glass.
Then back at her.
For the first time, I understood that she was no longer merely pressuring me.
She was willing to cause property damage and lie about it in front of witnesses.
I stepped back.
“Leave.”
She began shouting again.
Then came the threat of arrest.
Then the false emergency call.
And finally, the moment I remembered the camera.
When I raised my phone and told her the entire incident had been recorded, her expression changed.
I had never seen her frightened before.
Not when I challenged her fines.
Not when I questioned the association's records.
Not when our attorney demanded a copy of the alleged pool-access agreement.
But the camera frightened her.
She looked toward it.
Then toward the older man.
Her voice trembled.
“Tell him to delete that.”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
She stepped closer.
“That footage contains confidential association activity.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You just threw a stone through my window.”
She pointed toward the phone.
“You have no right to record board representatives without permission!”