I set the toolbox down on the marble floor of the clubhouse, and the sound echoed like a gavel. Harrison, I said quietly, you might want to sit down for this. He laughed, loud and ugly, and told the board to call security on the grease monkey. That was when the double doors opened and my attorney, Miriam Vance, walked in wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a leather portfolio thicker than Harrison’s ego. Behind her came the county recorder, the Sterling Ridge property manager, and two sheriff’s deputies. Miriam placed the portfolio on the table in front of Harrison and opened it slowly. Mr. Cole, she said, meet the sole owner of Sterling Ridge Development LLC, Sterling Ridge Country Club LLC, and every square foot of land your feet are standing on. Ellis Monroe. Harrison’s face drained so fast I thought he might faint. His wife Cynthia dropped her wine glass and it shattered across her white heels. I picked up the eviction notice he had shoved at me, tore it in half, and let the pieces flutter onto his loafers. Harrison, effective immediately, your HOA presidency is terminated, your board seat is vacated, and your lease on unit forty-two, the one you rent from my company because you overleveraged your custom build, is not being renewed. You have thirty days. The deputies handed him a formal notice. Miriam slid another folder toward the board. These are the fines Harrison illegally levied against tenants he considered beneath him. Every dollar is being refunded from his personal account by court order. I turned to the neighbors who had stayed silent while he tormented me for months. The next HOA president will be elected fairly, I said, and the first rule I’m writing into the bylaws is simple. Nobody in Sterling Ridge is a charity case. Harrison sat down hard on a folding chair, staring at his shaking hands, and for the first time since I moved in, the clubhouse was completely, beautifully silent.
