I stared at her.
The camera was mounted on my property.
It monitored my gate and guesthouse entrance.
And the woman had personally insisted on its installation.
I raised the phone slightly.
“Then you should've thought about that before demanding this camera.”
The older man suddenly spoke.
“Let me see the video.”
The president turned sharply.
“No.”
He looked at her.
His voice trembled.
“I want to see it.”
She stepped between us.
“This is not your concern.”
The older man stared.
Then he did something unexpected.
He reached into the pocket of his navy shorts and removed a folded sheet of paper.
“I paid for this pool access.”
I looked toward him.
He held up the paper.
“The association told me the owner had signed an agreement.”
My stomach tightened.
I stepped closer to the gate.
“What agreement?”
He unfolded it.
Then turned the page toward me.
At the top was an official-looking document.
ASHBOURNE CREST TEMPORARY AQUATIC ACCESS AUTHORIZATION.
Below the title was my property address.
My swimming pool was identified as the temporary facility.
And near the bottom was a signature.
My signature.
Except I had never signed that document.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I looked toward the president.
Her face had gone white.
The older man looked between us.
“Sir?”
I stared at the paper.
He swallowed.
“Is this real?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
The man looked down.
Then back at me.
I continued.
“I've never seen that agreement in my life.”
The president laughed nervously.
“There must be some administrative confusion.”
I looked directly at her.
“Administrative confusion?”
She nodded quickly.
“Yes. Perhaps the documents were prepared before final approval.”
I pointed toward the signature.
“Then why does it have my name on it?”
She stopped smiling.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the older man slowly turned toward her.
“You told me he'd signed.”
She avoided his eyes.
He repeated the accusation.
“You personally told me the owner had approved this arrangement.”
The president adjusted her white blazer.
“It's complicated.”
The older man's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked angry.
“No. It's not complicated.”
He held up the paper.
“I paid six hundred and fifty dollars for a summer family access pass.”
A woman behind him gasped.
Another resident spoke.
“We paid eight hundred.”
I stared.
The president spun toward the group.
“Everyone needs to calm down!”
But nobody was listening anymore.
An older woman demanded to know where her money had gone.
A man asked why the association had issued access passes to property it didn't control.