Daniel's voice remained calm.
"I think you're being recorded."
Elaine yanked the light out.
She slammed it against the pavement.
The plastic casing shattered.
"Happy?"
Daniel looked at the camera.
"Very."
She stepped closer.
"You've been difficult since the day you moved here."
Daniel said nothing.
"You don't follow instructions."
"I follow the rules."
"You challenge everything."
"When the rules are applied incorrectly."
"You always have an excuse."
Daniel looked at the row of broken lights.
"You've destroyed eight fixtures."
"They're violations."
"You haven't shown me one rule."
"I don't have to."
Daniel looked at her.
"You've said that twice."
Elaine's confidence faltered.
Only slightly.
But Daniel noticed.
He had learned something important during years of business negotiations.
People who were certain of their authority rarely needed to explain that they had it.
People who were uncertain talked about it constantly.
Elaine pointed at him.
"Don't make this worse."
Daniel almost smiled.
"You already did."
She turned.
Then she started walking toward the next row of lights.
Daniel followed with the camera.
Not close.
Never close.
He stayed several feet away.
She reached another fixture.
She kicked it first.
Then bent down.
Pulled.
Crack.
She threw it aside.
Daniel's phone captured everything.
"How many are you going to destroy?"
"All of them."
"Why?"
"Because you were warned."
"By you?"
"By the HOA."
"You are the HOA president."
Elaine stopped.
She looked at him.
Then smiled.
"Exactly."
CHAPTER THREE
The Difference Between Authority and Permission
Daniel had heard that tone before.
It was the tone Elaine used during HOA meetings.
She never said, "I think."
She said, "The HOA has decided."
She never said, "Please."
She said, "You are required."
And she never said, "I don't know."
She said, "You don't need to know."
Daniel had tolerated it because he didn't want a neighborhood dispute.
He had attended meetings.
He had paid his dues.
He had followed the documented regulations.
When the HOA asked him to repaint the mailbox, he did it.
When they asked residents to maintain hedges below a certain height, he complied.
When they introduced a new parking regulation, he adjusted.
But Elaine had gradually started demanding things that weren't actually in the rules.
She had objected to his security cameras.
His outdoor furniture.
The color of his front door.
The pathway lights.
His backyard fence.
At first, Daniel assumed she was simply controlling.
Then the letters began.
Official-looking notices.
Warnings.
"Failure to comply."
"Potential violation."
"Mandatory corrective action."