Without a word of greeting, Margaret rướn người (leaned forward) and violently thrust the stack of papers right into Elias's chest, forcing him to catch them.
"Pay your HOA fees now or we take this property," Margaret barked, her voice shrill and carrying across the lawn. "Your family's history means nothing here."
Elias caught the papers. He didn't stumble. He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared. He looked down at the woman in the pristine navy suit, his eyes burning with a fierce, unyielding fire. He gripped the stack of papers with both hands, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying baritone.
"This house stood for a hundred and fifty years before your HOA existed," Elias stated, the undeniable weight of history in every syllable. "You don't own my land."
Margaret scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. She refused to back down in front of the watching neighbors. "Everyone follows my rules. You're not special," she snapped.
Elias didn't yell. He didn't throw the papers back. He simply reached into the back pocket of his canvas pants, pulled out the manila envelope his lawyer had provided, and placed it right on top of her stack. He looked her dead in the eyes, his expression utterly chilling in its calmness.
"Then check those papers carefully," Elias said.
Margaret snatched the manila envelope, letting out a haughty, dismissive laugh. She expected a handwritten plea or a meaningless, sovereign-citizen manifesto. She ripped the flap open and pulled out the crisp, white legal documents.