Interim President

Alice Monroe set a cardboard box on the folding table at the front of the clubhouse.

The room held forty residents, every chair taken and ten people standing along the back wall. Linda Carver’s designated seat sat empty. Beside her spot, the wooden gavel lay on a felt pad.

Alice sat down, adjusted her glasses, and pulled a piece of paper from her folder. “As of eight o’clock this morning, Linda Carver submitted her written resignation to the association’s legal counsel. Vice President Miller has also resigned.”

A quiet hum ran through the room. No one clapped.

“That leaves three board members,” Alice said, her voice steady. “Under Section 4.2 of our bylaws, we have a quorum to conduct business until an election next month. I will act as interim president.”

She reached across the felt pad, picked up the wooden gavel by its handle, and dropped it into the cardboard box at her feet.

“We won’t be using that,” Alice said. “If we need a hammer to run a meeting, we aren’t doing it right.”

Claire leaned closer to Daniel on the metal chair. “I like her already,” she whispered.

Daniel kept his notebook open on his lap. “She knows the rules.”

Alice tapped her pen against her notepad twice. “First order of business. All vendor contracts exceeding five hundred dollars are suspended pending independent financial audit. Second order. The fine schedule is frozen.”

She looked out over the crowd. “Any resident with an outstanding fine issued in the past two years may submit a written request for review. Forms are on the back table.”

Sharon Pike stood up from the third row. “What about the legal fees they added to my account?”

“Suspended,” Alice said. “The law firm hired by the former board has been relieved of duty. We are retaining independent counsel through the state bar referral.”

The meeting took forty minutes. There were no raised voices, no threats of enforcement, and no lectures on aesthetics. Alice took motions, asked for seconds, called for voice votes, and recorded the results.

When the meeting adjourned, Daniel helped stack six folding chairs against the wall. Alice walked past carrying her box.

“Mr. Mercer,” she said, stopping by the doorway. “The forensic auditors requested full access to the garage storage locker tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure the key is at the front desk,” Daniel said.

She nodded once and walked out to her car.

At six o’clock the next evening, Daniel was clearing dinner dishes from the kitchen counter when the front doorbell rang.

A man in a blue jacket stood on the porch holding a white envelope.

“Daniel Mercer?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“Summons and subpoena for deposition,” the man said, handing over the envelope. “State versus Linda Carver.”

Daniel took the papers. The envelope was heavy, stamped with a case number from the county prosecutor’s office.