“I've lived here seven years.”
“Exactly.”
“And you've been president five.”
“Yes.”
“So apparently I survived two peaceful years first.”
Vanessa stared.
Marcus continued.
“Leave my property.”
“You don't dictate HOA access.”
“You are not the government.”
“No one said I was.”
“You certainly move like it.”
She took another step.
Marcus did not.
The air between them tightened.
From inside the house, the patio door remained open a few inches.
Music played quietly.
Nothing else moved.
Marcus suddenly became aware of his security cameras.
One above the patio roof.
One near the rear gate.
One on the garage corner.
He had installed them after a series of package thefts the previous winter.
He wondered whether the pool camera had captured Vanessa climbing over.
Probably not the actual fence line.
The garage camera might have.
Good.
Vanessa extended one hand.
“Give me your phone.”
Marcus stared.
“What?”
“You need to acknowledge the electronic inspection notice.”
“No.”
“I can pull it up.”
“On your phone.”
“You have to confirm receipt.”
“I don't have to do anything while you're trespassing.”
Her face hardened again.
“Stop calling this trespassing.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Authorized association access.”
“Authorized by who?”
“The HOA.”
“You are the HOA president.”
“Yes.”
“So you authorized yourself.”
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
Marcus nodded.
“Excellent system.”
She pointed at him.
“You think because you own one of the larger homes here that rules don't apply.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
There it was.
Not race explicitly.
Not yet.
But the familiar implication.
Arrogance.
Entitlement.
Someone like him not knowing his place inside authority.
Marcus had learned not to supply words people had not actually spoken.
So he did not.
He simply said:
“The rules apply when they're rules.”
Vanessa took off her straw hat and dropped it onto a lounge chair.
“I'm documenting this refusal.”
“From outside the fence.”
“No.”
She walked toward the pool equipment again.
Marcus blocked her.
Not touching.
Just standing.
Vanessa looked up at him.
Marcus was six feet two.
She was perhaps five six.
For the first time, her posture shifted.
Not frightened.
Calculating.
“You're intimidating me.”
Marcus stepped backward immediately.
That sentence mattered.
“There.”
He raised both hands slightly.
“I’m not touching you.”
“You're blocking me.”
“From equipment on my property.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Vanessa glanced toward the gate.
Then at the patio.
Then back.
“You are required to cooperate.”
“No.”
“Marcus.”
“Vanessa.”
Her expression turned furious.
She moved suddenly.
Not around him.
Toward him.
Her right hand closed around his wet forearm.
“Get out of my way.”
Marcus looked down at her hand.
Then at her face.
“Let go.”
She pulled.