Then the newly constituted board convened a properly noticed organizational meeting under the applicable procedures.
The remaining directors took their places.
The newly elected director joined them.
The secretary recorded the proceedings.
The board voted on its officers.
Three directors supported the Black homeowner as president.
Two preferred another director.
The motion passed.
The secretary documented the vote.
The official minutes were prepared.
And the new president assumed the responsibilities granted by the association's governing documents.
Not unlimited personal authority.
Not the power to punish residents because he disliked them.
The obligation to oversee legitimate association business, work with the board, and respect the membership.
He understood the difference.
By late morning, the certified election results and organizational minutes had been distributed to the directors, management company, and homeowners through the required channels.
The former president received notice as well.
But she refused to accept it.
She was at home when the election results arrived.
Her son sat at the kitchen island eating breakfast.
A television played quietly in the background.
The president's phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen.
Saw the subject line.
Then opened the message.
CERTIFIED SPECIAL MEETING RESULTS.
Her expression changed.
She read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
By the time she reached the voting totals, her hands were trembling.
Her son looked up.
"Mom?"
She said nothing.
He frowned.
"What's wrong?"
She slowly lowered the phone.
"They voted."
He blinked.
"What?"
"The homeowners."
She swallowed.
"They removed me."
The young man stared.
Then laughed.
"They can't do that."
His mother looked toward him.
"They just did."
He shook his head.
"That's stupid."
The woman stood.
Pushed back her chair.
Then began pacing.
She had spent twelve years making decisions for the neighborhood.
Twelve years approving contracts.
Issuing notices.
Controlling meeting agendas.
And deciding which homeowners received leniency.
Now the voting members had removed her.
And the board had selected the very man she wanted to silence.
She felt humiliated.
Threatened.
Furious.
But beneath all of it lay fear.
The new president would have access to records.
The board could authorize an independent financial audit.
The contracts with her son's maintenance company would receive scrutiny.
And the altered meeting minutes might finally become more than a private disagreement with the secretary.
Her son stood.
"Mom, call your lawyer."
"I already did."
"What did he say?"
"That we can review the election process."
The young man grinned.
"Then get it thrown out."
She looked toward him.
For a moment, she seemed almost desperate.
"That could take time."
He shrugged.
"So?"
She stared toward the window.
Then whispered, "I don't have time."
The son frowned.
"What?"
She turned.
"He's going to start examining everything."
The young man looked confused.
"Everything?"
She looked directly at him.
"Our contracts."
His smile faded.
For several seconds, neither spoke.