Lindsey thought she was keeping the neighborhood “orderly” when she had both our cars towed without warning — smug in her HOA righteousness, cookies in one hand and a rulebook in the other. But what she didn’t know was that tiny sticker on our back windshield marked us as part of a covert federal operation. By the time the black SUV pulled up the next morning and the agent calmly informed her she’d disrupted an investigation and caused $25,000 in damages, her smug smile had shattered like the mug she dropped on her porch.

Jack and I never touched her cookies. We just watched from across the street as her pastel-perfect world unraveled. She’d turned a minor annoyance into a federal headache, and we didn’t have to say much — the silence, the badge, and the words “under investigation” did the heavy lifting. Turns out, if you’re going to play neighborhood cop, you better know who you’re messing with.