We didn’t go after Vernon with shouting matches or late-night revenge. We went after him with everything he worshiped: rules, appearances, and the fragile ego hiding behind his perfect lawn. While Rowan recovered, Lena and I quietly built our case—photos, timestamps, bylaws, his own smug messages. When he tried to tighten the noose around us with his “old car” proposal, we simply turned on the light and let everyone see who was really choking.
In that fluorescent-lit HOA meeting, his power died in silence, not drama. Neighbors saw the ice, the hypocrisy, the danger of letting one petty tyrant dictate what “standards” meant. The investigation stripped his illusions: the illegal fence, the driveway, the beloved convertible suddenly forced out of sight. We didn’t just win a feud; we reset the neighborhood. Now, every time my battered Civic rolls past his trimmed hedges, it’s a reminder: dignity and facts outlast fear and control.
