"He's one of the affected owners."
She leaned forward.
"Did he submit documents?"
The lawyer explained that the filings included materials associated with the sheriff's property, including disputed notices and voting records.
For a moment, the president became very still.
Then she asked what records had been obtained.
The lawyer began listing the categories.
Financial statements.
Vendor invoices.
Assessment records.
And copies of the proposed common-area approval.
The president's stomach seemed to drop.
She knew which documents could be explained.
She also knew which ones couldn't be reconciled without questions she didn't want answered.
Her lawyer advised cooperation with lawful requests and preservation of relevant records.
Instead, she demanded to know who leaked the material.
The lawyer repeated that evidence preservation was essential.
The president ended the call.
Then she summoned the administrative coordinator.
When the woman entered, the president stood beside the window.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the president asked whether she'd been talking to the sheriff.
The coordinator answered carefully.
"I've spoken with counsel about concerns in the records."
The president's expression hardened.
"You're fired."
The coordinator stared.
For several seconds, she couldn't move.
Then she asked for the decision in writing.
The president pointed toward the door.
"Get out of my office."
The coordinator took a slow breath.
Then walked away.
She had known the risk.
But the sudden dismissal still hurt.
As she gathered her belongings, the former treasurer's words returned to her.
If nobody tells the truth, the numbers will keep hurting people.
She carried her box outside.
Then called the attorney.
The president spent the following afternoon making frantic telephone calls.
She contacted board members.
The developer's representative.
And the association's outside management company.
She insisted that the legal petition was part of a coordinated attempt to destroy neighborhood leadership.
Several people supported her.
Others became uneasy.
One younger board member, a forty-year-old American engineer who had joined the board only six months earlier, asked why the original financial records hadn't been produced.
The president accused him of disloyalty.
He responded that his obligation was to the association, not to any individual officer.
She ended the call.
Then contacted the developer.
Its representative sounded alarmed.
He wanted to know whether the homeowners could invalidate the proposed approval.
The president insisted the vote was legitimate.
The representative requested documentation.
She promised to send it.
Then looked toward the disputed proxy forms.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that the developer's lawyers might examine the signatures more carefully than the friendly board members she'd relied on.