Vernon needed to feel safe, untouchable. And that gave us time to prepare.
I started watching him. Not in a creepy way. Just observing.
When he left for his morning jog, when the gardener came, how long his sprinklers ran. And of course, the convertible. That car was his crown jewel. Parked in his driveway, under a custom cover that matched the color of his house.
I started watching him.
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Lena, meanwhile, was collecting evidence.
Screenshots of the group post. Photos I'd taken of the ice on my car. The trail of puddles. She even snapped a picture of his hose extended in the direction of our driveway, just in case he tried to say it wasn't long enough.
We reported him to the HOA. We sent the evidence in a neat PDF.
Their response?
"We'll look into it."
Which was HOA-speak for "He's our friend, don't bother."
So we bothered.
We reported him to the HOA.
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I started digging into the HOA bylaws. Dry reading, full of clauses and subsections and ridiculous old rules that no one had enforced in decades.
But then I struck gold!
A list of aesthetic violations — like lawn height maximums, restrictions on visible tools or materials, even rules about how many vehicles could be visible from the street.
And wouldn't you know it, Vernon was violating several of them!
We built a file and printed everything out: dates, times, and photos.
We called it "The Gift Basket."
But we didn't deliver it. Not yet.
But then I struck gold!
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Because Vernon had started to sense the shift.
He posted more often in the group thread.
"Some people don't understand standards."
"Certain neighbors have forgotten this is a private community."
The man even installed new cameras on his property that conveniently pointed toward our driveway!
Then came another anonymous note on the Civic, typed this time:
"Some eyesores can't be fixed. But they can be hidden."
"Some people don't understand standards."
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I told Lena. She just rolled her eyes and said, "He's feeling the ground shift. That means we're close."
I nodded. But I was tired of being patient.
That's when Vernon made his boldest move yet.
A new HOA proposal showed up in the community inbox that Sunday night. It was neatly worded, dressed up in concern, and aimed straight at me.
"Proposal 14B: All personal vehicles older than 10 years must be kept inside garages and concealed from street view to preserve neighborhood aesthetics and community standards."
That's when Vernon made his boldest move yet.
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Lena read it aloud, then looked up and said, "Well, there it is. He finally wrote it in ink."
I rubbed my chin. "That's our green light."
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