She handed me the file. "Then let's give him his gift."
The next HOA meeting was in person, held at the community center just five minutes away.
Vernon arrived early. Of course he did.
He wore a pressed polo, khakis that had probably never touched a lawn, and carried a leather binder that screamed overconfidence. He smiled at everyone as if he were a politician on autopilot and took a front-row seat.
"Then let's give him his gift."
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Lena and I slipped in quietly, carrying a blue folder with tabs and sticky notes sticking out like thorns.
When the agenda reached the proposal, Vernon stood up and cleared his throat.
"This is a small ask," he began. "A necessary step toward preserving the beauty and property value of our community. We all strive for excellence, and sometimes that means removing... visual clutter."
I raised my hand.
The room turned.
"We all strive for excellence, and sometimes that means removing... visual clutter."
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"I have a few thoughts," I said, walking up.
Vernon raised an eyebrow, as if he were trying to hide his smirk. I opened the folder and placed a stack of neatly printed pages on the table.
"Before we vote on enforcing new standards, I thought we should review existing ones. These are documented HOA violations by our neighbor Vernon, dating back six months."
Murmurs broke out.
I took a breath and continued.
"I have a few thoughts."
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"Here's a photo of a driveway expansion done without HOA approval." I held up the evidence.
"And here," Lena added, flipping the next page, "is the date-stamped image of garbage bins left out past collection for three days. Page six shows the unauthorized fence height extension. Clause 7.4 states that the maximum fence height is six feet. This one? Nearly seven."
Vernon stood, voice rising. "This is ridiculous! You're turning this into a personal vendetta!"
I looked him dead in the eye. "You mean like icing someone's car in the middle of the night?"
Gasps! A few board members blinked hard.
I held up the evidence.
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Lena stepped forward. "Oh, and this rule about cars older than 10 years? Vernon's own convertible is a 2007 model. It's been parked in his driveway every day since he moved in. If this passes, he'll be the first to violate it."
Vernon tried to speak, but the president of the HOA, an older woman named Carla with iron-gray curls and no time for games, raised her hand.
"Enough. This meeting is adjourned until further review. We will not be voting on Proposal 14B at this time. And Vernon, we'll be conducting a full investigation into your property status starting this week."
Vernon didn't leave. He stormed out, red-faced, muttering!
"This meeting is adjourned until further review."
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Three days later, we threw a party.
It wasn't flashy. Just a backyard gathering with lemonade, grilled hot dogs, and folding chairs.
Neighbors we barely knew came by, some bringing snacks or desserts. We played music, laughed, and passed around iced drinks — a little joke that nobody needed explanation for.
I printed up a simple flyer, titled: "How to Respect Neighbors Without Breaking the Law."
It had quotes from the HOA bylaws and tips like "Don't weaponize your hose" and "HOA rules apply to everyone, not just the people you don't like."
People passed them around, smiled, and nodded.
I printed up a simple flyer...
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The HOA president even stopped by.
She didn't stay long, but on her way out, she shook my hand and whispered, "Thank you for the documentation. That man's been skating on thin ice for too long."
Vernon didn't show up. But his car?
Gone.
The following week, the extra fencing came down. A new contractor repainted the driveway lines. And Vernon? He stopped waving, stopped posting, stopped watching us from his window.
But I knew it wasn't over.
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