Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Don't be dramatic. It's just electricity. Besides, you don't own the resources of the community. The HOA charter is very clear: shared assets benefit everyone."
I shook my head in disbelief. "There is no HOA charter. And even if there was, my generator wouldn't be in it. Disconnect it now."
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Or what? You'll call the police? They'll side with me. I'm keeping this neighborhood safe and regulated."
That's when I realized she wasn't just bold; she was delusional. I walked away before I did something I'd regret. But inside, I was seething.
This wasn't over, not by a long shot. Because Karen had made a critical mistake. She thought my generator was just an engine hooked up to wires. She didn't know I'd modified it years ago, back when some nosy hunters tried stealing my fuel. I'd installed a little surprise: a non-lethal, high-voltage deterrent system. One touch of a tampered line, and the thief would get the shock of their life.
Karen had no idea what she'd just plugged herself into. And part of me was tempted to let her find out the hard way.
The morning after discovering Karen's cable theft, I woke up restless. Sleep hadn't come easy. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined her smug grin, lights blazing in her cabin while mine dimmed. My patience had run out. Enough was enough.
I decided to confront her face to face. No more sidelong comments. No more pretending this was just a quirky neighbor problem. This was theft, plain and simple.
I marched across the gravel road to her property, boots crunching with each step, and knocked on her front door hard enough to rattle the frame.
When Karen finally appeared, she was already armed with her clipboard like a shield. She cocked her head with mock sweetness. "Back again? Did you come to apologize for raising your voice yesterday?"
"Apologize?" I barked a humorless laugh. "Karen, you tapped into my generator. That's theft. I'm not here to apologize. I'm here to tell you to disconnect it right now."
She crossed her arms, tapping the clipboard against her hip like a weapon. "You're being dramatic. It's not theft; it's community resource management."
"Community resource management?" I stepped closer, my voice low but sharp. "Karen, you broke onto my property in the middle of the night and hooked up a line like a thief in the dark. You know what that's called in the real world? Stealing."
Her face flushed crimson, but instead of backing down, she doubled down like all Karens do. "This entire lakeside is governed by HOA guidelines. And as the elected president—"