Jack and I had just moved into a small rental for a short work assignment. Barely unpacked, we got our first visit: a neighbor named Lindsey—pink cardigan, forced smile, and a tray of cookies. Sweet on the surface, but her eyes scanned our house like a security camera. “Just a friendly heads-up,” she chirped. “HOA rules say only one car per driveway.”

We had two cars—both parked neatly on the driveway. “We’re just temporary,” I said. “Won’t be a problem.” But she smiled like it already was. Three days later, before sunrise, we heard a noise. Two tow trucks were hauling both our cars away. Lindsey stood on the sidewalk in her robe, sipping coffee like she’d just won. That smile didn’t last.“Enjoy the victory,” I said, pointing to a small sticker on the back windshield. “That tow just cost you $25,000.” Her face changed instantly. The next morning, a black SUV rolled up. A federal agent stepped out, walked to her door, and calmly informed her she’d just interfered with an active undercover federal operation by ordering our cars towed. She was speechless. Her mug shattered on the porch. You’ll be contacted,” the agent said. “Don’t leave town.” We walked home. Lindsey’s door stayed cracked open. Her blinds stayed closed. Her perfect garden? Never looked the same again.