Bryson looked down.
“My mom said if people wouldn't sell, you pressure them until they do.”
Sterling was quiet.
“I thought that was business.”
“It isn't.”
Bryson nodded.
“I know that now.”
Sterling looked at him.
“Then remember it.”
Bryson walked away.
Sterling hoped the lesson would last longer than the court case.
Rebuilding Briarwood Glen
Briarwood Glen needed more than a new president.
It needed new rules.
The association hired an independent management company.
Large fines required outside review.
Board members had to disclose financial interests.
Vehicle complaints required documentation.
Homeowners received formal appeal procedures.
Most importantly, no HOA officer could claim authority over property that did not belong to the association.
The changes were boring.
Sterling liked boring.
Good systems were supposed to be boring.
They prevented dramatic situations.
Six months passed.
No one photographed his driveway.
No fake inspectors appeared.
No strange oil puddles showed up.
No threatening letters arrived.
One Saturday, Sterling rolled the Mustang outside.
Tate was home from college.
They washed the car together.
Tate rubbed a cloth across the hood.
“You ever going to sell this thing?”
Sterling looked offended.
“After everything we've been through?”
Tate laughed.
“I had to ask.”
When they finished, Sterling opened the glove compartment.
A small brass plaque was attached inside.
Margaret had installed it years earlier.
FOR MY TWO FAVORITE MEN.
Tate touched the plaque.
“Mom would have laughed so hard when those officers saluted you.”
Sterling smiled.
“She would have laughed at Hadley first.”
“And then you.”
“Definitely me.”
They climbed inside.
The engine came alive with a deep V8 rumble.
For the first time in a long time, Sterling felt completely at peace.
A Drive for Margaret
Sterling drove the Mustang through Briarwood Glen.