Lindsey smiled smugly as our cars were towed, clearly thinking she’d won some petty HOA war. Jack and I had just moved into the rental
for a short work assignment—barely unpacked—when she showed up with cookies and a forced smile. Her “welcome” quickly turned into a lecture
about the HOA’s one-car driveway rule. We explained both cars were in our own driveway and we were temporary renters, but she wouldn’t let it go.
Days later, we woke to the sound of tow trucks—and saw Lindsey watching in her robe, pleased with herself. But her grin vanished
when I told her she’d just made a $25,000 mistake. Confused, she didn’t notice the nearly invisible government sticker on our windshields.
That night, I made one call. By morning, a black SUV pulled up. A federal agent calmly explained she had interfered
with an undercover operation and caused $25,000 in damages. Her face drained of color, her coffee mug shattered on the steps.
Jack said, “Next time, don’t act like the sheriff of suburbia.”
As the agent left, I added, “Maybe just bake the cookies and stop there.”
She never came outside again. And those perfect roses of hers? They never quite recovered.
