Dolores's voice filled the room.

“We can make your life much easier, Jim, or we can make it much harder. The choice is yours.”

I looked at him.

“You recorded this legally?”

“I was part of the conversation.”

I nodded slowly.

Then I smiled.

“Jim, I think you just changed everything.”

He looked toward the pool.

“She tried to take your property because you wouldn't hire her nephew.”

“That's what I think.”

“She won't stop.”

“No.”

Jim nodded.

“Then we need to stop her.”

That night, I called Moren.

I sent her the recording.

There was a long silence.

Finally she said:

“Wyatt, this could be the evidence that breaks her.”

 The Secret Plan

The governing documents contained an old provision.

If enough homeowners believed the board had materially violated its fiduciary duties, they could demand a special election.

We needed thirty signatures.

There were seventy-four homes.

At first, I thought getting thirty would be difficult.

Then we started talking.

Gemma Tate, a retired teacher, joined us.

Chenise Bradford, a paralegal, joined.

Jim joined.

Then the Hoffmans.

The Newmans.

The Patels.

The Kowalskis.

People began telling us stories.

A family fined over shutters.

Another fined over a clothesline.

Another threatened over landscaping.

Dolores had built a culture of fear.

We decided to break it.

But first, I had to make Dolores believe she had won.

So we created a plan.

On Saturday morning, I would drain the pool.

The entire neighborhood would watch.

A television crew would record it.

Dolores would celebrate.

She would think I had surrendered.

While she was celebrating, our team would collect signatures.

We needed thirty.

We intended to collect forty-five.

And we did.

 The Day the Pool Disappeared

Saturday morning arrived.

A commercial drainage truck entered my driveway.

A news crew arrived shortly afterward.

Neighbors gathered.

Children watched from bicycles.

Adults stood along the sidewalks.

Then Dolores arrived.

She stepped out of her Lexus wearing sunglasses and a smile.

She thought she had won.

“Finally,” she said.

I looked at her.

“Enjoy the show.”

The pump started.

A tremendous roar filled the neighborhood.

Twenty thousand gallons began leaving the pool.

The water level dropped.

The mosaic disappeared beneath the surface.

The bench emerged.

The bottom appeared.

The pool became an enormous empty concrete basin.

Dolores watched.

The reporter approached her.

“Mrs. Pritchard, why is the homeowner draining his pool?”

“He refused to follow community rules.”