I signed it, hit send, and sat back, feeling a satisfaction no amount of revenge could top. The next phase had begun: the one where Sarah Murphy finally learned that you don't mess with a man who owns the faucet. And for the first time in weeks, I slept like a man who knew the water would be waiting for him come morning.
The sun rose over my fields like molten copper that morning. For the first time in months, I felt a strange peace—the kind that comes when you finally hold the steering wheel of your own destiny. The air was still dry, but inside my chest, it felt like a storm about to break.
I own the water company now.
Let that sink in: the same old man Sarah Murphy once called a stubborn dirt farmer was now the one signing her water bills. And she didn't know it. Not yet. But she was about to find out in the most poetic way possible.
The moment my new drought policy went public, the HOA email chains lit up like a Christmas tree on fire. I'd set it up so that every Clearstream customer got a notice at the same time. The subject line was simple: Water Restriction Alert: Effective Immediately. Underneath, the message explained how excessive outdoor water use, especially for aesthetic landscaping and fountains, was prohibited until further notice; violators would face disconnection or fines.
Within hours, the Crescent Meadows group chat was chaos. I didn't have to imagine the messages: my buddy Linda at the county office was still in their chat for monitoring purposes, and she sent me screenshots:
"Is this real? No fountains?"
"How are we supposed to maintain property value?"
"We pay for water, we deserve access!"
"Call Sarah, she'll fix it."
Oh, Sarah. She didn't take long to react.
The very next day, I received a formal complaint email from Crescent Meadows HOA addressed to Clearstream Utilities' corporate division—which, in reality, was just me and one tired secretary named Jolene, who worked part-time out of the office downtown. The email read:
"Dear Clearstream, the new water restrictions are unacceptable. Our community maintains high standards that depend on proper irrigation and landscape upkeep. We demand exemption from these limitations. Failure to comply will result in legal action. Sincerely, Sarah Murphy, HOA President."
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee. Jolene, bless her heart, printed the email out and brought it to my desk, shaking her head. "Boss, you want me to handle this one?"
I nodded. "Yep. Send her our standard response."
That response was simple: Per county drought regulations, no exemptions will be granted. Continued violation will lead to suspension of service.
We sent it off, and I sat back, imagining her expression when she read it.