But a simple assault charge in a local jurisdiction? With her apparent ties to the local police chief? She would hire a defense attorney, claim Sarah tripped, claim she was acting in self-defense, or tie it up in civil litigation for years. She would get probation. She would remain in power. She would still be the queen of her petty kingdom.
No.
If I was going to destroy Brenda, I wasn't going to just clip her wings. I was going to eradicate her entire existence. I was going to use the full, crushing, inescapable weight of the United States Federal Government.
A loud crunch of glass broke me from my thoughts.
I turned around.
Marching straight up my driveway was Brenda. She was wearing her trademark pink polo shirt and holding a steaming mug of coffee. Flanking her like bodyguards were Gladys, clutching her wooden clipboard, and Tom, looking aggressive with his arms crossed over his chest. Walking heavily behind them was Vince, the tow truck driver, still wearing the same dirty gray uniform from yesterday.
They saw my car and decided to pay me a visit. They wanted to see if I was going to bend the knee.
"Well, look who finally decided to come home," Brenda said loudly, taking a sip of her coffee. Her tone was dripping with condescension. She stopped a few feet from me, looking down her nose at my wrinkled clothes and exhausted face. "I hope your wife learned her lesson, David. It’s a shame it had to come to that, but she was completely hysterical. Tried to attack me while I was inspecting the violation."
The sheer audacity of the lie almost made me snap. I felt the muscles in my forearms tighten. I calculated exactly how much pressure it would take to crush her windpipe.
I forced my hands to open. I slumped my shoulders. I looked down at the ground, channeling every ounce of undercover training I had ever received to play the role of the broken, terrified, cowardly husband.
"She's... she's in the hospital," I stammered, making my voice shake. "The baby came early."
Brenda rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. Don't use your child to guilt-trip me. That woman brought it on herself with her reckless behavior. Now, let’s talk business. The fine on your door is two thousand dollars for creating a community disturbance and threatening an HOA official. The tow fee is five hundred. Cash or certified check."
I looked up at her, maintaining my frightened facade. "Five hundred? But the city maximum for a tow is one-fifty."
Vince the driver stepped forward, invading my personal space, towering over me. "This is private property, pal. HOA sets the rates. You want your car back, you pay. Or I start charging you a hundred bucks a day for storage."
"And the glass?" I asked softly, pointing to the shattered pieces on my driveway. "My wife’s purse?"
"Your wife’s purse is being held as collateral by the HOA," Brenda lied smoothly, a predatory gleam in her eye. "As for the glass, you should be thanking me I didn't fine you an extra five hundred for littering. I expect a check right now, David. Or we place a lien on this house by the end of the week."
I swallowed hard, playing the beaten man perfectly. "Okay. Okay, please just don't put a lien on the house. I'll write the check for the tow. I just need my car back."
Gladys snickered softly behind her clipboard. Tom smirked, shaking his head at my apparent weakness. Brenda beamed with absolute triumph, enjoying the humiliation.
I pulled my checkbook from my jacket pocket. "Who do I make it out to?"
"Oak Creek Landscaping," Brenda said instantly.
I paused, my pen hovering over the paper. I looked up, letting my confusion show. "Landscaping? Not a towing company?"
"It’s an umbrella LLC authorized by the board for all neighborhood beautification and hazard removal," Brenda snapped impatiently. "Just write the damn check, David."
I wrote the check for five hundred dollars, tore it out, and handed it to her. She snatched it from my hand, inspected it, and immediately pulled out her phone to mobile-deposit it.
"Vince, give him the receipt so he can go grovel for his car," Brenda ordered.
Vince reached into his pocket and handed me a crumpled, poorly printed receipt. I looked at it. There was an address for a dirt lot on the edge of town, but what caught my eye was the top corner. There was no Employer Identification Number. There was no state tax registry number. It simply read: Sunny Meadows Landscaping LLC.
"Don't ever cross the line again, David," Brenda sneered, turning on her heel to walk away. "I run this neighborhood. You just live in it."
I watched them march back down the street, laughing quietly amongst themselves. They thought they had just broken a pathetic, law-abiding citizen. They had no idea they had just handed an undercover federal agent physical evidence of corporate fraud.
I walked into my house, locked the heavy wooden door behind me, and walked straight into my home office.
I sat down at my desk and opened my heavily encrypted, biometric federal laptop. I pressed my thumb against the scanner. The screen illuminated with the seal of the Department of Justice. I bypassed three firewalls and logged directly into FinCEN—the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network.
I pulled out the crumpled receipt Vince had given me, and I opened my banking app to view the digital scan of the cleared check Brenda had just deposited. I extracted the routing and account numbers of "Oak Creek Landscaping."