Jack and I had just moved into a quiet neighborhood when we met our overly cheerful neighbor, Lindsey. She showed up with cookies and a “gentle reminder” that the HOA only allowed one car per driveway. We thanked her politely but ignored the rule.

Three days later, at 4:17 a.m., we woke to the sound of tow trucks hauling away both our cars. Lindsey stood on the sidewalk, “arms folded. Satisfied.” But her triumph faded when I told her, “You just made a $25,000 mistake,” pointing to a discreet federal sticker on our windshield marking the vehicles as part of a covert operation.

The next morning, a federal agent arrived at her doorstep. In firm tones, he explained that by authorizing the tow, she had interfered with an active investigation. “Your protocol just cost the government time, money, and a compromised operation,” he said.

Lindsey’s protests collapsed as her coffee mug shattered at her feet. From our porch, Jack added, “Bake the cookies, skip the power trip.”

After that day, Lindsey never spoke to us again. Even her once-perfect rose bushes drooped, mirroring her fall from neighborhood authority.

Some lessons, it seems, are learned the hard way.