The forty strangers didn't wait around to find out. Panic set in. The crowd surged toward the broken side gate, desperate to escape the relentless, high-pressure storm Marcus had unleashed upon them. Within sixty seconds, the backyard was entirely empty of guests. Only Brenda remained, standing in the artificial rain, screaming at the house.
Marcus finally turned off the sprinklers. The sudden silence was deafening, save for the sound of water dripping heavily from the palm fronds and patio umbrellas. Brenda stood shivering in the middle of the deck, her white suit ruined, her makeup running down her face in dark streaks. She looked like a drowned rat.
Before she could march up to the glass door to continue her tirade, the sharp, authoritative whoop-whoop of a police siren cut through the neighborhood.
Two Oak Creek police officers, fully geared, jogged up the driveway and through the broken side gate. They stopped, taking in the bizarre scene: an empty, churning pool, a soaked woman in a ruined business suit, and a calm, dry homeowner stepping out of his back door.
Brenda’s eyes lit up. She instantly slipped back into her delusional savior persona. She rushed toward the officers, her wet shoes squelching loudly on the stone.
"Officers! Thank God!" Brenda cried, pointing a trembling, wet finger at Marcus. "Arrest him! I am the HOA President! This man is a hostile squatter! I opened this community pool for a sanctioned neighborhood event, and he deliberately attacked us with high-pressure water hoses! He is a danger to the community!"
The lead officer, a tall man with a stern expression, held up a hand to stop her frantic screaming. He looked past her to Marcus, who was standing casually on his patio, completely unfazed.
"Sir," the officer said cautiously. "Can you explain what's going on here?"
Marcus didn't raise his voice. He walked forward, handing the officer a waterproof folder.
"Officer, my name is Marcus Sterling. Inside that folder is the deed to this property, matching my state-issued ID," Marcus said smoothly. "This is not a community pool. It is my private backyard. That woman," he pointed at the shivering Brenda, "used a pair of heavy bolt cutters to destroy the lock on my gate, trespassing on my property, and invited forty strangers to throw a party."
Brenda gasped, her eyes wide. "He's lying! The HOA charter clearly states—"