Jack and I had just moved into a temporary rental when our neighbor, Lindsey, appeared with cookies and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Just a heads-up,” she said sweetly, “HOA only allows one car per driveway.” We had two—both parked neatly, not blocking anyone.

Three days later, we woke to the sound of tow trucks. Both our cars were being hauled away.

“HOA violation,” the driver said. And there she was—Lindsey, sipping coffee in a robe, grinning like she’d won.

But her smile faded fast when Jack pointed to a barely visible decal on our windshield. She leaned in. Her face dropped. We didn’t explain.

That night, I made a quick phone call. The next morning, a black SUV pulled up. A man in a suit knocked on Lindsey’s door and flashed a badge.

“Ma’am, you interfered with an active undercover federal operation. You’ve cost the government $25,000.”

Her mug slipped from her hands and shattered.

“You may not leave town,” the agent added. Jack smiled. “Next time, maybe just bake the cookies.”

Her blinds stayed shut after that. And those perfect rose bushes? They never bloomed the same again.