Claudia tapped the gavel once, the sound sharp against the wood. "This meeting will come to order," she announced, her voice dripping with authority. "First item on the agenda: disciplinary action regarding resident Emma Whitaker."
She paused deliberately, letting the words ripple through the room. A few gasps rose from the back, but no one spoke. Fear still gripped them.
She leaned forward, holding up a copy of the notice I knew too well. "This board has determined that her repeated suspicious behavior constitutes grounds for suspension of privileges until compliance with search requirements is met." She looked directly at me, daring me to object. "Non-compliance will incur fines of $500 per day."
I rose, calm, my voice steady. "You've just confirmed in public what I've been waiting to hear."
The room shifted: heads turned, whispers rippled, neighbors leaning closer. Claudia's smirk faltered, then hardened.
"Mr. Whitaker," she said sharply. "You do not have the floor."
"I don't need it," I replied, setting the folder on the table and opening it with deliberate precision. "Because what you've just done is read out loud an order you have no authority to give."
Gasps echoed. One neighbor muttered under their breath; another pressed a hand to their mouth.
Claudia slammed the gavel again, louder this time. "Order! This is not—"