Richard offered one last handshake before leaving. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Dawson. And your integrity."
After he left, Tessa leaned on the counter like she was melting. "I can't believe it," she said breathlessly. "You dethroned an HOA Karen. You're like a medieval knight... a legend. The Beverly Slayer."
"Tessa," I groaned.
"No, seriously. I feel like we need T-shirts."
Despite her teasing, a quiet sense of pride grew in my chest. Not because I wanted to be a hero. Not because I wanted attention, but because I had stood my ground when it mattered, even though it would have been easier to cave.
And it was finally over. Or so we believed.
We closed the shop at 8:00 and stepped outside into the cool evening air. The sunset cast long shadows across the parking lot. And for the first time in two days, I felt peace—not the fragile kind, but the real kind, the kind that fills your lungs and settles your mind.
Tessa locked the door behind us. "You did good, Mark."
"We did good," I corrected.
She smiled. "Okay, but I'm taking credit for the duck dance thing."
We stood there for a moment, sipping sodas, staring at the quiet road. Then from far down the street, a pair of headlights appeared. A lone sedan, slow, creeping.
My entire body stiffened. "No," I whispered. "Not her. Please, not her."
The sedan pulled into the lot, hesitated, then parked crookedly. The driver's door opened, and Beverly stepped out.
Except she wasn't Beverly the HOA tyrant anymore. No sunglasses, no clipboard, no heirs, no armor. She wore a plain sweater and jeans. She moved slowly, as if each step was a negotiation with gravity. Her face wasn't furious. It was tired, hollow, human.
I straightened. Tessa tensed beside me.
Beverly stopped a few feet away, her eyes lifted to meet mine. There was no fire in them, only resignation.