drove off.
Six hours later, at dawn on Saturday, another alert fired.
The HOA was holding their official ribbon-cutting ceremony. Caterers had hauled in fold-out tables, coolers, and folding chairs onto my property. Over twenty residents were gathered in front of the freshly painted cabin, drinking mimosas while Karen stood on the cedar porch holding giant novelty scissors, cutting a maroon silk ribbon to raucous applause.
She thought she had won. She thought the absence of an argument meant submission.
I didn’t confront them. I walked into the county clerk’s
