The tow operators froze when Jack revealed the truth: both vehicles belonged to the federal government, identifiable only by a small, easy-to-miss windshield sticker. They double-checked, straightened their posture, and within moments, the towing attempt was reversed. Chains were removed, paperwork vanished, and one visibly irritated operator explained to Lindsey that federal exemptions overrode any neighborhood rules she clung to. Her face went pale as the authority she had tried to wield slipped away in front of everyone.
From that day forward, the dynamic changed. Neighbors who had kept their distance began greeting us, their subtle glances at Lindsey carrying quiet amusement. Her curtains twitched for days, but she never confronted us again. She had tried to use the HOA as a weapon, only to discover her power was illusory. We didn’t need to retaliate—her own public embarrassment did it for us. Our cars remained, and her control evaporated.