My HOA president stood in my yard and told a police officer my private pool belonged to the neighborhood. The agreement she gave him was dated before the HOA even existed.
The police officer looked at my pool, then at the handcuffs on his belt, then at the woman screaming in my backyard. “Arrest him,” Susan snapped, pointing at me like I had stolen the sun. “He is holding community property hostage.” I didn’t yell. I didn’t argue. I just reached into the blue folder under…
