“What is in this water?”
Loretta Daniels stood on Nathan Voss’s front porch at 4:23 on a Saturday afternoon with both arms extended in front of her like evidence.
A faint green tint covered her forearms.
The color climbed unevenly toward her elbows, appeared along the left side of her neck, and showed in patches near her collarbone where her swimsuit and sunscreen had left residue on her skin.
“What did you do?”
Nathan stood inside his doorway holding a mug of coffee.
He looked at her arms.
Then at her face.
Then back at her arms.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
Loretta’s eyes widened.
“My whole body is green.”
“Not your whole body.”
“That is not funny.”
“I wasn't joking.”
She shoved one arm closer to him.
“Do you have any idea who I am?”
Nathan almost smiled.
That question, more than anything else she could have said, captured Loretta Daniels perfectly.
Not:
Do you know what happened?
Not:
Can you help me?
Not:
Is this dangerous?
Do you know who I am?
Nathan knew exactly who she was.
That was why two cameras were recording the conversation.
Loretta pointed at him.
“You did this on purpose.”
Nathan’s expression remained neutral.
“This is assault.”
“No.”
“This is deliberate.”
“No.”
“I will drag you through every court in Maricopa County.”
Her voice rose.
“I will make sure you lose everything.”
Nathan said nothing.
“Your house.”
“Your pool.”
“Everything you own.”
She was breathing hard now.
Nathan waited.
He had spent two weeks learning how useful silence could be around a person who believed every empty second belonged to them.
Loretta filled it.
“You think you can humiliate the president of this association and walk away?”
Nathan finally spoke.
“Would you like to tell me why you were in my pool?”
The question stopped her.
Not completely.
But enough.
Her mouth remained slightly open.
Nathan took his phone from his pocket.
Unlocked it.
Opened the folder he had prepared less than an hour earlier.
Then held the screen where she could see.
The video began at 1:52 p.m.
Loretta Daniels appeared at the side gate of Nathan’s property wearing sunglasses, white sandals, and a large canvas beach bag.
She looked left.
Then right.
Opened the iron gate.
Walked into Nathan’s backyard.
Loretta stared at the phone.
Nathan said nothing.
On the screen, she placed her bag on the lounge chair beside the pool.
Removed her cover-up.
Applied sunscreen.
Walked down Nathan’s pool steps.
And disappeared into the water.
The timestamp remained clearly visible.
SATURDAY 13:55:31.
Nathan swiped.
Friday, twelve days earlier.
Loretta again.
Different swimsuit.
Same gate.
Same chair.
Another swipe.
Tuesday.
Another.
The Friday before that.
Another.
Nathan’s finger moved through six separate recordings.
Six documented entries.
Six dates.
Six times.
Six occasions on which the president of Meadow Glen Commons entered a private residential backyard without permission and used a private swimming pool as if she owned it.
The green color drained from Loretta’s face.
That had nothing to do with the pool.
Nathan locked the phone.
Loretta stared at him.
“You were spying on me.”
Nathan almost admired the speed with which she found another accusation.
“They’re security cameras on my property.”
“You intentionally recorded me in a swimsuit.”
“I recorded my backyard.”
“You knew I was coming.”
“Eventually.”