Let me be clear. I like birds. I don't worship them. I don't dress up like them. I don't have a shrine to big bird in my basement.
I just like watching a couple of cardinals eat sunflower seeds while I drink my morning coffee. It's the one moment of zen I get before I have to log on to Zoom and listen to corporate strategy meetings. That could have been an email. But according to Mrs. Higgins, the president of the Oak Creek Estates Homeowners Association—a woman I am convinced was sent to this earth to test the limits of the Geneva Convention—my three modest tube feeders and one suet cage constituted an unauthorized commercial aviary complex that threatened the property values of the entire tri-state area.
She wanted a war. Fine. She fined me $700 for feeding the birds. So, I decided to feed the neighborhood something else entirely. It started on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays are garbage days in Oak Creek, which meant the streets were lined with uniform beige bins, all standing exactly six inches from the curb, handles facing the house, lids fully closed. If your lid was open more than two inches, fine. If your bin was seven inches from the curb, warning letter. If you put your bin out before 6:00 p.m. on Monday, public execution. Okay, maybe not execution, but a passive-aggressive post on the community Facebook page, which feels pretty similar.
I was sitting on my back deck, clutching a mug of dark roast, watching Red—the male cardinal; I'm not creative with names—land on the feeder I'd hung from the maple tree. He was a good bird. He didn't make noise.
He just cracked seeds and looked majestic. Morning, Red, I muttered. Don't let the squirrels get the good stuff. The morning sun was hitting the dew on the grass, and for a fleeting second, I forgot that I lived in a neighborhood governed by a totalitarian regime of retirees with too much time on their hands. Then I heard the sound.
Clip-clop, clip-clop. It wasn't a horse. It was Mrs. Higgins's sensible orthopedic heels hitting the pavement on the other side of my privacy fence. I stiffened. Every homeowner in Oak Creek knew that sound.
It was the sound of impending doom. I stayed perfectly still, employing the T-Rex strategy. If I didn't move, maybe she wouldn't see me. Through the slats in the fence, I saw flashes of her neon pink windbreaker. She was walking that terrifying little poodle of hers.
Princess, a dog that looked less like a canine and more like a used Q-tip with teeth. I heard the distinctive swish of a tape measure extending. Two point seven four inches, I heard her mutter to herself. Grass height: 2.8 inches. Acceptable, but bordering on negligent.
She was measuring my neighbor's lawn. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She moved on, or so I thought. A few hours later, I was inside working. I'm a remote software engineer, which means I spend my day writing code and pretending my camera is broken so I don't have to put on a collared shirt.
The doorbell rang. It wasn't the friendly ding-dong of a friend. It was the sharp authoritative double buzz of the postal service requiring a signature. I walked to the door. Our mailman, Steve, looked sympathetic.
Steve was a good guy. He hated the HOA almost as much as we did because Higgins once reported him to the postmaster general for walking across a lawn instead of using the paved walkway. Certified mail, Jack, Steve said, holding out the green card. He didn't look me in the eye. It's from the management company.
My stomach dropped. What did I do, Steve? Did I leave the hose uncoiled? Is my mailbox leaning three degrees to the left? Steve sighed, handing me the pen.
I don't know, man, but it feels thick. Thick usually means expensive. I signed for it. The envelope was heavy, creamy stock paper, the kind lawyers use when they want you to know they charge $400 an hour. The return address was embossed.
Elite Community Management, preserving standards, protecting value. I took it into the kitchen. I didn't open it immediately. I made a sandwich first. I figured I should eat before I lost my appetite.
I sat at the island, staring at the envelope like it was a bomb. Finally, I grabbed a butter knife and slid it open. Three pages, single-spaced. Notice of violation and assessment of fines. Dear homeowner, it has come to the attention of the board of directors that your property is in violation of the Oak Creek Estates covenants, conditions, and restrictions, CC&Rs.
Violation: Unauthorized Structures. Creation of nuisance. Attraction of vermin. Description: The installation of excessive bird feeding apparatuses. Four units in the rear yard.
These unapproved structures have been observed attracting nondomesticated wildlife, creating noise pollution, and contributing to the accumulation of biological waste, droppings, seed husks on the common area turf. Reference article 4, section B. Prohibition of wildlife attractants and unapproved recreational structures. Fine assessment. In accordance with the newly adopted schedule of fines revised May 2024, class B violations carry a penalty of $51 per day.
Observation period. The violation was noted by board president P. Higgins on the first of the month. As of today, the 14th, the violation has persisted for 2 weeks. Total fine due immediately.
$700. Remedy: Remove all structures immediately to cease the accrual of further penalties. I stared at the number. 700. I choked on my sandwich.
$700. I shouted to the empty room. For feeding birds, I looked out the window. Red was back on the feeder. He looked at me, tilted his head, and chirped.
Is that my fault? He seemed to ask. Yes, Red, I said. Apparently, you are nondomesticated wildlife and a nuisance. I grabbed my phone.
I wasn't going to take this lying down. I dialed the number for Elite Community Management. Thank you for calling Elite Community Management. A robotic voice answered. For violations, press one.
For architectural requests, press two. To beg for mercy, press pound. Okay. It didn't say that last part, but it was implied. I pressed one.
The hold music was a smooth jazz saxophone solo that sounded like it was being played underwater. I sat there for 20 minutes, my blood pressure rising with every saxophone squeak. Finally, a human clicked on. Elite Community Management, this is Janice. Oak Creek Estates, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
My name is Jack Miller. I just received a fine for $700 regarding bird feeders. I heard the clicking of a keyboard. Miller. Ah, yes.
Unit 402. The bird-feeder incident. The board has flagged this as a high-priority nuisance. High-priority? I laughed.
A dry, humorless sound. Janice, look, there has to be a mistake. I have four small feeders. I bought them at Home Depot. They aren't structures.
A structure is a shed or a gazebo. This is a plastic tube filled with seeds. Sir, Janice said, her voice dripping with the boredom of someone who has had this conversation a thousand times. According to the CC&Rs, any addition to the exterior of the home or lot that is not original to the build is considered a structure. Did you submit an architectural review request form, an ARC-1, before hanging the feeders?
Did I submit a form to hang a bird feeder? I asked. Are you serious? Do I need a permit to hang a wind chime or put out a welcome mat? Technically, yes, on the wind chime, Janice said.
Noise pollution. But regarding the feeders, the issue isn't just the structure. It's the attraction of vermin. They're cardinals, Janice. And chickadees.
They aren't rats. Mrs. Higgins's report indicates that the seed debris is attracting squirrels and undesirable avian species, which creates a health hazard for the community. Squirrels live outside, Janice. I don't need to invite them. They live in the trees.
They were here before the subdivision. Sir, there is no need to raise your voice. I took a deep breath. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Okay.
Okay. Look, $700 is insane. I didn't even get a warning. Usually, you get a cure notice, right? A warning to take them down before the fines start.
Ah, Janice said. Excellent question. The board voted last month to bypass cure notices for health-and-safety violations. Since this involves potential vermin, it falls under immediate enforcement. So, let me get this straight.
Mrs. Higgins watched my house for two weeks, racking up a $50 a day tab without telling me just so she could hit me with a $700 bill. I cannot speculate on the board's observation methods, Janice said, sounding like she absolutely could speculate, but chose not to. The fine stands. You have 30 days to pay or a lien will be placed on the property. Have a magical day.
Click. I stared at the phone. A lien on my house because of bird seed. I walked out to the backyard. I looked at the feeders.
They were innocent. They brought color and life to a backyard that was otherwise just a square of monoculture sod surrounded by a beige vinyl fence. I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated pettiness rising in my chest. It was a cold, hard feeling. I wasn't going to yell at Mrs. Higgins.
Yelling gets you nowhere in the suburbs. Yelling makes you the crazy neighbor. No, I needed to be the smart neighbor. I grabbed my laptop and sat on the deck. I logged into the HOA portal, a website that looked like it was built in 1998 by a high school intern.
I downloaded the CC&Rs, the constitution of our little dictatorship. I spent the next 4 hours reading. I read every line. I read about fence heights. I read about acceptable shades of mulch, only dark brown or black, absolutely no red.
Oak Creek Estates encourages homeowners to maintain lush, vibrant gardens in an effort to promote eco-friendly practices and reduce chemical runoff. The association encourages the use of organic gardening methods and natural pest control solutions over synthetic pesticides. Natural pest control. I looked over the fence toward the common area, specifically toward the area directly behind Mrs. Higgins's house. Mrs. Higgins prided herself on her roses.
She had prize-winning tea roses planted right along her back fence line, which bordered the community, Green Space. I'd seen her out there spraying them with chemicals, wearing a mask, looking like she was handling plutonium. But I also knew something she didn't know. I'd seen the little green specks on her buds from my second-story window. Aphids.
Her roses were infested. I looked back at the natural pest control clause. I opened a new tab on my browser. I typed in bulk beneficial insects for sale. The first result was a site called Bugman Barry's Biological Warfare.
The website had a GIF of a beetle eating a might. It was perfect. I navigated to the ladybugs section. Hippodamia convergens. The convergent lady beetle, a voracious predator of aphids, mites, and soft-bodied insects.
One bag contained 1,500 live beetles. I looked at the fine letter on my table, $700. I looked at the price of ladybugs, $20 per bag. I did the math. For the price of my fine, I could buy a lot of bugs.
But I didn't need that many. I just needed enough to make a point. I checked the community calendar. This Saturday, annual spring potluck. Location, the common green, behind unit 401, Mrs. Higgins's house.
Time 12:00 p.m. 3:00 p.m. Dress spring-casual. Note, Mrs. Higgins will be judging the potato salad contest. The common green directly adjacent to the aphid-infested roses. I smiled. It was a slow, terrifying smile.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number for Bugman Barry. Barry speaking, a voice rasped. It sounded like a man who smoked gravel for breakfast. Hi, Barry, I said. I have a gardening emergency.
I need to order some ladybugs. A significant amount. How big's the garden, Chief? It's not about the size of the garden, I said, leaning back in my chair and watching Red fly away. It's about the magnitude of the statement.
How many can you get to Pennsylvania by Friday? I can get you a crate. That's about 5,000 bugs. They come chilled. You wake them up, they get hungry.
5,000? I mused. That sounds adequate. You got an infestation? Barry asked.
Oh yeah, I said. I've got a massive pest problem. Specifically, a pest in a pink windbreaker. I don't ask questions. I just ship the bugs, Barry said.
That'll be a hundred bucks plus overnight shipping. Done. I hung up the phone. I looked at the bird feeders. Don't worry, guys.
I whispered to the empty yard. I'm going to take you down, but we're going to replace you with a different kind of wildlife. The next three days were a blur of preparation. I took down the bird feeders documenting every step with timestamps. I sent a photo to Janice at Elite Management with the caption, Compliance achieved.
Please confirm receipt. She replied 2 hours later, Noted. The fine of $700 is still due. Of course it was. I went to the hardware store.
I bought specialized release gear. Okay, it was Tupperware. I drilled small holes in the lids, big enough for air, too small for a ladybug to escape. I scouted the perimeter. The common green was a strip of manicured grass between the two rows of houses.
It was where the HOA held all their events because it was the only flat piece of land in the neighborhood. Mrs. Higgins backyard fence was a wrought-iron affair. The aristocrat model approved in the bylaws, which meant it was see-through. Her rose bushes were pressed right up against it. The potluck setup would be right there.
The buffet tables were usually arranged in a U-shape with the open end facing the roses. It was tactically perfect. On Thursday evening, the package arrived. It was a styrofoam box labeled live material, perishable. Handle with care.
I signed for it, trying to look casual. My neighbor, Nosy Nancy, was watering her driveway, don't ask, three houses down. She stopped and stared. Nancy was Mrs. Higgins's lieutenant. If Higgins was the general, Nancy was the CIA operative who gathered intelligence.
I waved. Just some specialized fertilizer, Nancy. Organic. She narrowed her eyes, but went back to hosing down the asphalt. I took the box into the garage.
I opened it. Inside were mesh bags filled with what looked like orange pebbles. They were dormant, asleep in the cold. 5,000 Of them. I transferred the bags into the crisper drawer of my garage fridge, right next to the IPAs.
Sleep well, my pretties, I said, channeling my inner wicked witch. Saturday is a big day. Friday passed without incident, though I did get a generic email reminder about the potluck. Reminder, no glass containers on the green. Please bring a dish to share.
No store-bought items for the competition. I wasn't planning on bringing a dish. I was bringing the entertainment. Saturday morning arrived. The sky was a painfully perfect blue.
It was a chamber of commerce day. The kind of day Mrs. Higgins lived for. I woke up early. I checked the fridge. The bugs were still snoozing.
I transferred them from the mesh bags into the Tupperware containers. I had five containers, 1,000 soldiers in each. I dressed in my most non-threatening outfit, khaki shorts and a polo shirt. I looked like every other dad in the neighborhood, just minus the soulless look in my eyes. Today, my eyes were bright with the fire of rebellion.
At 11:30 a.m., I saw the setup beginning. Folding tables were being erected on the green. I saw Mrs. Higgins directing traffic. She was wearing a white floral dress that looked like a couch cover from 1985. She was pointing, shouting, and moving bowls of coleslaw 2 in to the left.
That's it, I whispered. Group the food together, nice and tight. At 11:45 a.m., the police cruiser rolled up. My heart stopped. I watched through the blinds.
A cruiser from the local PD pulled into my driveway. Nancy, she must have called them about the suspicious package. I quickly shoved the Tupperware containers into a canvas tote bag and threw a towel over them. I walked to the front door just as the officer knocked. It was Officer Miller, no relation.
I'd met him once when my car alarm went off by accident. He was a young guy, looked bored. Morning, officer, I said, stepping onto the porch. Everything okay? We got a call, Miller said, adjusting his belt.
Anonymous neighbor reported suspicious activity. Said you were carrying heavy crates into your garage late at night and said something about biological agents. I blinked. Biological agents? Yeah.
Look, I know it sounds crazy, but in this neighborhood, people get jumpy. I laughed. It was a genuine laugh of disbelief. Officer, I ordered ladybugs. He stared at me.
Ladybugs for my garden. Aphids? I lied. Well, it was a half lie. Mrs. Higgins, the HOA president, is very strict about chemical pesticides, so I'm going organic.
The crates were a styrofoam cooler. Can I see them? Sure. I led him to the garage. I pulled the tote bag open and lifted a Tupperware container.
Through the translucent plastic, he could see the mass of orange and black dots. They were starting to wake up in the warmth, crawling over each other. Whoa, Miller said. That's a lot of bugs. 5,000.
I said, I have a big garden. Miller looked at me. Then he looked at the house Nextdoor where Nancy was peeking through her curtains. Then he looked down the street where Mrs. Higgins was setting up the potluck. A slow grin spread across his face.
You know, Miller said, My aunt lives in a place with an HOA. They find her for having a wreath up in January. Sounds about right, I said. Is there a law against releasing ladybugs? He asked rhetorically.
Not that I know of. They're beneficial insects, native species. Miller nodded. Well, sorry to disturb you, sir. Make sure you handle your biological agents with care.
I will, officer. Just going to release them near the property line. Let nature take its course. Have a good day, Jack. You too, officer.
He got back in his car. I waved at Nancy's window. She snapped the curtain shut. The coast was clear. I checked my watch.
12:15 P.m. The potluck was in full swing. I could hear the murmur of conversation and the clinking of plastic forks. I grabbed the tote bag. All right, boys, I whispered to the Tupperware.
It's showtime. I walked through my house to the back sliding glass door. I stepped out onto the deck. The air smelled of barbecue sauce and expensive perfume. I walked down the steps into my yard.
I headed straight for the back fence, the one that separated my property from the common green. Through the slats, I could see them. About 50 neighbors were milling around. The buffet table was loaded. Potato salad, macaroni salad, fried chicken, fruit punch in a big glass bowl.
And right there, holding court at the head of the table, was Mrs. Higgins. She was laughing, a high-pitched fake laugh. She was holding a paper plate loaded with deviled eggs. Oh, the birds, I heard her say. Yes, I had to put a stop to it.
Filthy creatures. Jack needs to learn that rules are there for a reason. I stood just inside my fence line. I was technically on my property. Hey everyone, I called out.
The conversation stopped. 50 Heads turned. Mrs. Higgins's smile faltered. Jack, she said, her voice icy. I didn't think you'd show your face.
Did you come to pay your fine? Actually, I said, smiling brightly. I came to comply with article 9, section C, promoting eco-friendly gardening and natural pest control. I noticed your roses were looking a little peaky, Mrs. Higgins. Aphids are a nasty business.
My roses are fine, she snapped. Go back inside, Jack. This is a private event for members in good standing. Oh, I'm just doing some gardening, I said. On my own property.
Just releasing some beneficial insects. Don't mind me. I reached into the bag. I pulled out the first Tupperware. I popped the lid.
The ladybugs had been warming up in the bag for 20 minutes. They were awake. They were hungry. And they were agitated. I shook the container into the air, flicking my wrist to get them airborne.
Fly, my pretties, I muttered. A cloud of orange specks erupted from the container. Then I opened the second one and the third. Within 30 seconds, I had released 5,000 ladybugs into the air. Now, here's the thing about ladybugs.
When you release them, they don't just stay on the bush you put them on. They fly. They seek warmth. They seek moisture. They seek bright colors like the bright yellow of the potato salad, like the bright red of the fruit punch.
Like the white floral print of Mrs. Higgins's dress, the swarm lifted on the gentle breeze. The wind was blowing south directly toward the buffet. It started with a single scream. Ew, there's a beetle in my coleslaw, someone yelled. Then chaos.
The cloud descended. It wasn't a plague of locusts, but to the residents of Oak Creek, it might as well have been. Ladybugs landed everywhere. They landed on faces. They landed in hair.
They landed in the develed eggs, turning them into speckled eggs. Oh my god! Mrs. Higgins shrieked. She swatted at the air. What is happening?
They're everywhere! Nosy Nancy yelled, dropping her plate of brownies. I stood by my fence, leaning casually against a post, watching the scene unfold. It was beautiful. It was art.
A ladybug landed on Mrs. Higgins's glasses. She flailed, knocking the punch bowl over. Red punch splashed all over her white dress. Get them off! Get them off!
She screamed, doing a frantic dance that looked like she was trying to stomp out a campfire. The neighbors were fleeing. People were running for their houses, abandoning the food. The common green was now the common red and orange. Jack Higgins screamed, pointing a punchstained finger at me.
You did this. You You bug terrorist. I'm just gardening, Mrs. Higgins, I called back, my voice innocent. They're just ladybugs. They're good luck.
This is assault, she yelled, brushing bugs out of her perm. I'm calling the police. Call them, I said. I have the receipt. It's organic gardening, article 9, section C.
She grabbed her phone, her hands shaking, ladybugs crawling on the screen. I popped the lid on the last container just for good measure, and shook it out. Bon appétit, I said. I turned around and walked back into my house. I locked the sliding door.
I went to the kitchen, poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, and sat by the window to watch the show. The police arrived 10 minutes later. It was Officer Miller again. I saw him get out of the car. He walked up to the green, swatting a few stray bugs away from his face.
Mrs. Higgins was hysterical, gesturing wildly at my house. Miller listened. He nodded. He looked at the bugs crawling on the abandoned potato salad. He looked at Mrs. Higgins ruined dress.
Then he looked at my window. I raised my coffee mug in a toast. He didn't smile. He was professional. But I saw his shoulders shake.
He was laughing. He said something to Mrs. Higgins. Wrote something in his notebook and then he left. He didn't come to my door. He didn't arrest me because what was he going to charge me with?
Releasing gardening supplies on my own property during daylight hours. The potluck was over. The food was ruined. The neighbors had scattered. And Mrs. Higgins was left standing alone in the middle of the green, covered in punch and beetles, defeated by nature.
I looked at the fine letter on my counter. $700. Best money I ever spent. The adrenaline crash after releasing 5,000 predatory beetles is a unique physical sensation. It's somewhere between the satisfaction of peeling the plastic off a new electronic device and the impending doom of realizing you just poked a sleeping grizzly bear with a sharp stick.
I spent the rest of Saturday inside, blinds drawn, watching the fallout through the cracks in the shutters like a paranoid survivalist. The common green looked like a crime scene. Mrs. Higgins had evidently declared it a disaster zone. The ruined potato salad and punchstained tablecloths sat there for hours, abandoning the buffet to the ants and of course the ladybugs. Every now and then, I'd see a neighbor come out, wave their hands frantically in front of their face, and sprint to their car.
My phone, however, was blowing up. Our neighborhood uses an app called Nextdoor, but the real action happens in the unofficial WhatsApp group called Oak Creek Chat. I wasn't an admin. Mrs. Higgins was, obviously, but I hadn't been kicked out yet. Ping.
Karen from 304. Does anyone else have beetles in their bathroom? I found three on my loofah. Ping. Mike the Grill Guy.
Potluck ruined. Who brings bugs to a lunch? Honestly, ping. Unknown number. Probably Steve.
Idk. The potato salad was dry anyway. Bugs added protein. Ping. Mrs. Higgins, admin.
This is an active investigation. Please cease communicating with the perpetrator in unit 402. Legal action is pending. I took a screenshot. Legal action.
I sat at my kitchen table, the silence of the house pressing in on me. The high of the victory was fading, replaced by the cold reality of suburban litigation. I knew how HOAs worked. They had deep pockets funded by our own dues. They could drain my bank account with legal fees before we ever stepped foot in a courtroom.
I needed a drink and I needed a lawyer. Sunday morning broke with a deceptive calm. I walked out to get the newspaper. Yes, I still subscribed to a physical paper. I like the crossword.
And scanned the front yard. A single ladybug was crawling on my mailbox flag. I saluted it. Good work, soldier. You think this is funny?
The voice came from the sidewalk. I turned. It was Bob. Bob lived two doors down. He was a retired accountant who measured his self-worth by the whiteness of his sneakers.
He was currently scrubbing his driveway with a toothbrush. Morning, Bob, I said. Think what is funny. My wife found a beetle in her purse. Jack, Bob said, standing up.
He wasn't yelling, which was worse. He was using his disappointed father voice. She's terrified of insects. She locked herself in the guest room. It's a ladybug, Bob, I said, leaning on my mailbox.
It signifies good luck. And besides, I was just treating the aphids. You know how Higgins feels about chemical runoff. Higgins is on the war path, Bob said, lowering his voice. He looked left, then right.
She called an emergency executive session last night without the homeowners present. That's against the bylaws, strictly speaking. But she declared exigent circumstances. Exigent circumstances? I scoffed.
It was a salad, Bob, not a hostage situation. She's talking about a special assessment, Bob whispered. To pay for a biohazard cleanup crew. She wants to bill the whole neighborhood, then sue you to recoup the cost. My eyes narrowed.
She wants to charge you guys for cleaning up nature. She hired Pest-Be-Gone. They're coming today. Sunday rates, Jack. Double time.
Bob shook his head and went back to scrubbing his driveway. You poked the bear, Jack. Now we all get mauled. I went back inside, my blood boiling again. Special assessment.
That was the magic word that turned neighbors into pitchfork wielding mobs. If she slapped a $500 fee on every house to clean up my bugs, they wouldn't hate her. They'd hate me. It was a smart play. Evil, but smart.
At 2:00 p.m., the vans arrived. Not one but three massive trucks from Pest-Be-Gone. Men in full hazmat suits, actual yellow suits with respirators piled out. It was theater. Pure theater.
Ladybugs are harmless. You can sweep them up with a broom. You don't need a hazmat team. I stood on my porch and filmed it. Hey, I yelled at one of the guys in the suits.
What are you spraying? The guy lifted his mask. He looked sweaty and confused. Uh, just high-pressure water mostly and some peppermint oil. Ladybugs don't like mint.
How much are you charging for this buddy? I just hold the hose, but Sunday call out for a level four infestation. Boss probably quoted him five grand minimum. $5,000 To spray water and peppermint oil. Mrs. Higgins was standing on her porch, arms crossed, directing the operation like she was Napoleon at Austerlitz.
She saw me filming. She didn't flinch. She just pointed at me, then pointed at the cleanup crew, effectively telling the neighborhood, He is costing you money. I needed to act fast. I went inside and called my brother-in-law, Dave.
Dave isn't a lawyer. Dave is a contractor, but Dave knows lawyers. And more importantly, Dave knows how to deal with people who try to screw you over with fines. Dave, I said when he picked up, I need the name of that shark you used when the city tried to condemn your shed. You mean Saul?
Dave asked. His name isn't actually Saul. It's Morton, but we call him Saul because he's colorful. Is he expensive? He charges by the hour, but he accepts payment in spite.
What did you do? I explained the bird feeders, the fine, the ladybugs, the hazmat suits. Dave laughed for a solid 45 seconds. Oh, that's beautiful, but you're screwed if you don't control the narrative. Higgins is building a case for endangerment and destruction of common property.
You need to hit her with fiduciary negligence. Fiduciary what? Negligence. She's spending community funds on unnecessary services. The hazmat guys to settle a personal vendetta.
That's a misappropriation of HOA dues. If you can prove the bugs were harmless and the cleanup was overkill, you can claim she's wasting the neighborhood's money. Neighbors hate bugs, Jack, but they hate wasting money way more. Dave, I said, I could kiss you. Don't just get me Morton's number.
Monday morning, I didn't work. I took a mental health day, which in this case meant a gathering evidence to destroy my enemy day. I printed out the receipt for the ladybugs, $100. I printed out the specification sheet for hippodamia convergence, harmless to humans, beneficial to plants. I printed out the invoices for standard pest control services.
Average cost, $150. I printed out a screenshot of the special assessment email that had just hit everyone's inbox. $200 Per household for emergency remediation. Then I put on a suit. I walked to the center of the neighborhood.
I didn't go to Higgins's house. I went to the community bulletin board by the mailboxes. I stapled a single flyer to the corkboard. Attention homeowners. Why are you paying $200 for peppermint water?
The infestation was harmless. Ladybugs. Actual cleanup cost: zero dollars. Nature does it. HOA President Higgins spent $5,000 of your money on a Sunday hazmat crew.
This is fiduciary negligence. Town hall meeting. My driveway tonight. 7:00 P.m. Jack the bird feeder guy.
I took a picture of the flyer and posted it to the Nextdoor group before Higgins could delete it. Then I waited. The response was immediate. Ping. Mike the Grill Guy.
$5,000. Is that true? Ping. Karen. I don't have $200 for bugs.
I thought she said it was a health hazard. Ping. Bob. Jack. Are you sure about these numbers?
I replied to the group. Come to my driveway at 7. I have the receipts. At 6:45 p.m., a police cruiser rolled by slowly. It was Officer Miller again.
He slowed down, looked at the gathering crowd in my driveway, gave me a subtle nod, and kept driving. He wasn't there to stop it. He was there to make sure no one got punched. At 7:00 p.m., there were 30 people in my driveway. Some were holding the $200 bill in their hands.
They looked angry. I stood on the tailgate of my pickup truck so everyone could see me. Thanks for coming, I said. I'll keep this short. I like birds.
Mrs. Higgins hates birds. She fined me. I released ladybugs to eat the aphids on her roses. Was it petty? Yes.
Was it dangerous? No. My wife is still traumatized. Bob shouted from the back. And I apologize to your wife, Bob, I said. But ask yourself this.
Is her trauma worth the $5,000 Mrs. Higgins paid Pest-Be-Gone yesterday? Money that came out of the reserve fund, money that is now being billed to you. Murmurs went through the crowd. I called Pest-Be-Gone this morning. I continued holding up a piece of paper.
I asked for a quote to remove ladybugs from the lawn. You know what they said? They said, We don't usually do that because they fly away in 24 hours. But if forced, they charge $150. Higgins paid five grand, someone shouted.
Sunday emergency rates, I said. Plus hazmat fees. She ordered the premium package to make a scene, to make me look like a terrorist. She spent your money to win an argument against me. The mood in the driveway shifted.
It wasn't about the bugs anymore. It was about the wallet. So, what do we do? Mike asked. We already got the bill.
We call a vote of no confidence, I said. Article 5, Section D. If 51% of homeowners sign a petition, we can dissolve the current board and hold emergency elections. Who's going to run the board then? Karen asked.
Nobody wants that job. It's a nightmare. I took a deep breath. I didn't want to do this. I really didn't.
But I was in too deep. I will. I lied. I'll run as interim president. My platform is simple.
No fines for bird feeders, no fines for leaving your bin out an hour late. And definitely no $5,000 bills for water fights. There was silence. Then a slow clapping started. It was Steve, the mailman, who wasn't even a resident, but had stopped his personal car to watch.
Then Bob clapped. Then the rest of them. Where do we sign? Mike asked. I pulled a clipboard out of my truck.
Right here. We got 40 signatures in 20 minutes. I was feeling good. I was feeling like a revolutionary leader. I was George Washington if Washington had weaponized insects.
Then my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize. This is Jack, I answered, stepping off the tailgate. Mr. Miller, a crisp, dry voice said. This is Arthur P.
Worthington, legal counsel for the Oak Creek Estates Homeowners Association and personal attorney to Mrs. Patricia Higgins. Arthur, I said, I was wondering when you'd call. Did you get an invite to the driveway party? We're having chips. I am calling to inform you that you have been served with a temporary restraining order effective immediately.
Worthington said, You are to cease and desist all harassment of board members, including the distribution of libelous flyers and the organization of unauthorized gatherings on private property that spills onto public easements. It's my driveway, Arthur. The crowd is spilling onto the sidewalk. That is common area. Mrs. Higgins feels threatened by your mob.
She should feel threatened. I said, I have 40 signatures calling for her resignation. Those signatures are invalid, Worthington said smoothly. As you are currently not a member in good standing due to your unpaid fines, now totaling $1,200 with the addition of the cleanup assessment, you are ineligible to organize a petition or vote in HOA matters. Read your bylaws, Mr. Miller.
Article 2, Section A. My stomach dropped. Member in good standing. If you owe money, you can't vote. And you certainly can't lead a coup.
You can't be serious. I said, Pay the fines in full, plus the legal fees for this phone call, which is currently billing at $450 an hour, and perhaps we can discuss your eligibility. Until then, disperse the gathering or we will have the police return to enforce the restraining order. Click. I lowered the phone.
The crowd was looking at me. They were ready to storm the Bastille. They had pens in their hands. What happened? Bob asked.
Technicality? I said, my voice tight. She says the signatures don't count because I haven't paid the fine. So pay it, Mike said. Then we vote her out.
It's $1,200, Mike, and I'm not paying her a dime on principal. Well, if you don't pay, we can't vote, Bob pointed out. And if we can't vote, we have to pay the $200 assessment. The crowd wavered. Principles are great, but paying $200 so your neighbor can lead a revolution is a big ask.
I'll handle it, I said, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. Just hold on to your anger. Give me 24 hours. The crowd dispersed slowly. I stood alone in my driveway again.
I had 24 hours to find a loophole in a document written by Satan himself. I went back inside and called Morton. Saul. She played the good standing card. I told him.
Classic. Morton croaked. Oldest trick in the book. She creates the fine. You refuse to pay.
She strips your rights because you didn't pay. It's a circular firing squad. How do I break it? You pay it. Morton said.
What? No. I hired you to tell me how not to pay it. You pay it under protest. Morton explained. You write a check.
In the memo line, you write, Paid under duress, pending litigation. That restores your good standing immediately. You get your voting rights back. You execute the coup. You vote her out.
Then, as the new president, you void the fines and refund yourself. I blinked. I can do that. It's risky, Morton said. If the coup fails, you're out 1,200 bucks and she stays in power.
But if you win, you win everything. I looked at my bank account app. $1,200 Was a hit. It was my vacation fund. But looking out the window, I saw Mrs. Higgins lights on.
She was probably in there drinking tea, gloating. I'll write the check, I said. Tuesday morning, the day of the board meeting. Technically, the emergency session Higgins called was closed, but the bylaws stated that the open forum portion had to be public. It was scheduled for 6:00 p.m. in the community center basement.
At 9:00 a.m., I walked into the elite management office downtown. I slapped a check on the desk. $1,200. I told the receptionist. Note the memo line.
Restore my voting rights immediately. She looked at the check. She looked at me. I'll process this. It takes 2 hours to update the system.
I'll wait, I said. I sat in the lobby and stared at her until noon. At 12:01 p.m., my phone buzzed. An automated email from the HOA portal. Status update.
Member good standing restored. I smiled. I was back in the game. I spent the afternoon rallying the troops. I texted Bob, Mike, Karen, and everyone else.
We're on tonight. 6:00 P.m. Pack the room. At 5:55 p.m., I walked into the community center. Usually, HOA meetings have an attendance of three people.
Higgins, her VP, a sleeping octogenarian named Mr. Henderson, and Nancy. Tonight, there were 60 people. It was standing room only. The air was thick with the smell of cheap coffee and rebellion. Mrs. Higgins sat at the plastic folding table at the front.
When she saw the crowd, her eyes widened. When she saw me, her lips pursed so tight they practically disappeared. She banged her little wooden gavel. Order! She shrieked.
This meeting is called to order. I see many of you are here. I must remind you that this is a business meeting, not a circus. We're here for the open forum, Mike shouted. Open forum is at the end of the agenda.
Higgins yelled back. First, we must discuss old business, the incident on Saturday. She glared at me. The board moves to ratify the special assessment of $200 per unit for biological remediation, she said. All in favor?
She looked at Mr. Henderson. I, he mumbled, half asleep. I, Higgins said. Motion carries. Objection, I yelled, stepping forward.
You have no standing, Higgins snapped. Sit down, Mr. Miller, or I will have you removed for disruption. Actually, I said, pulling up the email on my phone and holding it up. I am a member in good standing. I paid your extortion money this morning, which means I have the floor.
The room went quiet. Higgins went pale. She hadn't checked the system. And I continued, turning to the crowd, I have a petition here signed by 52 homeowners that represents 58% of the association. We are calling for an immediate recall of the current board president on the grounds of fiduciary negligence and misappropriation of funds.
You can't do that. Higgins stood up, knocking her chair over. You need notice. You need Article 5, Section D. I recited, A recall petition can be presented at any open meeting.
If a quorum is present, a vote must be held immediately. I looked at the room. I think we have a quorum. This is an ambush, Higgins screamed. This is this is bullying.
No, Patricia, I said, dropping the formal Mrs. Higgins. Bullying is fining a man $700 for feeding birds. Bullying is charging your neighbors five grand to hose down a sidewalk. This is democracy. I demand a recess, Higgins yelled.
She grabbed her gavel. I second the motion for a recall vote, Bob shouted from the back. All in favor of removing Mrs. Higgins as president? I asked the room. 50 Hands shot up.
Nay, Higgins whispered. Nay, I veto this. You can't veto a recall, I said. You're out, Patricia. Step away from the gavel.
It was the most satisfying moment of my life. She stood there, trembling. Her face turned a color that matched the ladybugs. She looked at her loyal VP, Mr. Henderson. Frank, she hissed.
Do something. Frank Henderson opened one eye. He looked at the angry mob. He looked at me. He looked at Higgins.
I abstain, Frank said, and went back to sleep. Higgins let out a sound that was half scream, half sob. She grabbed her purse. She grabbed her gavel, clutching it to her chest like a security blanket, and stormed out of the side door. The room erupted.
People were cheering. Mike was high-fiving Bob. I stood at the front of the room. I had won. The tyrant was toppled.
But as the noise died down, 50 pairs of eyes turned to me. So Karen said, You're the president now, Jack. Interim, I corrected. Just until we find someone else. Great, Bob said.
So, about that fence permit I was denied in 2019. And the color of my shutters, Mike added. And the parking rules, someone else shouted. I looked at them. They weren't an angry mob anymore.
They were constituents. Needy, demanding constituents. I realized with a sinking feeling that I hadn't just defeated the dragon. I had become the dragon slayer who was now expected to manage the dragon's horde. I looked at the empty chair where Higgins had sat.
Meeting adjourned, I said quickly, and banged my hand on the table. I walked out into the cool night air. I needed to go home. I needed to refill my bird feeders. But as I walked back toward my house, I saw a car parked in front of my driveway.
It was a black sedan. A man in a suit got out. He didn't look like a neighbor. He looked official. Jack Miller?
He asked. Yeah, I'm from the Department of Agriculture, he said, flashing a badge. We received a report about the unauthorized release of a regulated biological agent, specifically 5,000 Hippodamia convergens across state lines without a proper transport permit. My heart stopped. Higgins, I whispered.
She didn't just call the cops, she called the feds. Is this going to be a problem? I asked. The agent sighed. Technically, yes.
You see, while ladybugs are legal, releasing them in commercial quantities in a residential zone requires an environmental impact statement. It was a potluck, I said. Not a commercial operation. Tell that to the 5,000 beetles, the agent said. We're going to need to inspect your property.
And I'm afraid there's a fine. I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. It was a manic, hysterical laugh. Of course there is, I said.
How much? $500. I looked at the sky. Only 500. I'll write you a check, but you have to wait in line behind the lawyer.
The war wasn't over. It had just moved to a new front, and I had 5,000 witnesses that were currently eating aphids in Mrs. Higgins garden. The morning after you accidentally overthrow a dictator is weirdly quiet. You expect parades. You expect confetti.
Instead, you get a hangover and an email from the Department of Agriculture titled, Notice of penalty assessment, biological mishandling, case number 4922B. I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the $500 fine. The dragon slayer high had worn off, replaced by the crushing realization that I was now the dragon. I was the interim president of the Oak Creek Estates. HOA I was the man in charge.
I looked out the window. My bird feeders were back up. Read the cardinal was there cracking a sunflower seed with an air of entitlement. Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy, I muttered. We might be bankrupt by Tuesday.
At 9:00 a.m., my phone rang. It wasn't the Agent. It was Janice from Elite Community Management. Good morning, Mr. President, she said. Her voice had changed.
It wasn't the robotic drone she used for residence. It was the sycophantic, terrified tone reserved for the person who signed the checks. Don't call me that, Janice, I said, rubbing my temples. Just call me Jack or the guy who regrets everything. We need to schedule the transition meeting, Janice said.
Mrs. Higgins dropped off the official records this morning. She seemed upset. Upset how did she cry? She threw the box through our mail slot, Jack. It's a very small slot.
She had to shred most of the documents to make them fit. Awesome, I sighed. I'll be there in 20 minutes. The office of Elite Community Management smelled like toner and despair. Janice led me into the conference room.
On the table sat a cardboard box that looked like it had been attacked by a rabid badger. This is the transition, I asked. This is what she gave us, Janice confirmed. And she left this note. She handed me a piece of scented stationery.
It smelled like lavender and vengeance. To the usurper, heavy is the head that wears the crown, especially when the crown is broke. Good luck paying the landscapers. Ph. What does she mean broke?
I asked Janice. Janice looked uncomfortable. She started typing on her laptop and Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Now that you're president, you have access to the full financials, not just the summaries we send to the residents. She turned the screen toward me.
I looked at the numbers. Operating account: $400.50. Reserve account: $1,200. I blinked. Twelve hundred dollars?
Janice, where is the money? We have 200 homes paying $150 a month. That's 30 grand a month in revenue. Where is it? Well, Janice said, scrolling down.
Consulting fees. Consulting fees. Mrs. Higgins hired a community aesthetic consultant last year to advise on color palettes and flower choices. Let me guess, I said, a cold feeling settling in my gut. Who is the consultant?
Janice clicked a file. A company called Pristine Vistas LLC. And who owns Pristine Vistas? Janice hesitated. It's registered to Mr. Arnold Higgins.
Her husband, I whispered. She paid her husband our money to pick out flowers. Technically, Janice said it was approved by the board, which was her and Mr. Henderson who was asleep. How much, Janice? Over the last 18 months?
About $150,000. I sat back in the chair. The room spun slightly. This wasn't just petty tyranny. This was embezzlement.
This was a crime. Freeze the accounts, I said. Whatever is left. Do we have legal insurance? Yes, Janice said.
But the deductible is $5,000, which we don't have. I put my head in my hands. I had led a coup to save $700 and I had inherited a $150,000 crime scene. Okay, I said standing up. Janice, print everything, every invoice from Pristine Vistas.
I'm going to need them. What are you going to do? I'm going to visit the Department of Agriculture, I said. I have a $500 fine to pay, and I think I might need to make a new friend. The Department of Agriculture field office was located in the basement of a federal building downtown.
It looked like the DMV, but with more posters about invasive beetles. I waited in line for 40 minutes until I reached the counter. A man with a buzzcut and a name tag that read, Agent Perkins looked up. He was the guy from my driveway. Mr. Miller, Perkins said, not smiling.
Here to pay the penalty? I am, I said, sliding a personal check across the counter. But I also have a question, a hypothetical one. We don't do hypotheticals, sir. We do pest control.
Okay. A specific one, I said. If someone were to use community funds, HOA dues, to pay for a hazmat cleanup of a native species, claiming it was a biological hazard to justify the cost. Would the Department of Agriculture have an opinion on that? Perkins paused.
He looked at the check. He looked at me. Are you telling me that the cleanup crews were paid for with HOA money? $5,000, I said, for peppermint water. Perkins frowned.
That implies she classified Hippodamia convergens as a biohazard. That is a falsification of an environmental threat assessment. Is that a crime? It's a federal misdemeanor to misrepresent a biological agent to procure emergency services, Perkins said. His eyes gleamed.
Bureaucrats love rules and they hate people who misuse their rules. Do you have proof? I have the invoice from Pristine Vistas authorizing the cleanup. I lied. Well, I hoped I would find it.
And I have the email where she called it a level four infestation. Perkins tapped his pen on the desk. Mr. Miller, I can't help you with your embezzlement issue. That's for the police. But if you can get me that email where she calls ladybugs a level four biohazard, I can open an investigation into misuse of environmental protocols.
It carries a fine, a hefty one. Heftier than $500. Try $10,000, Perkins said. I'll get you that email, I said. I walked out of the federal building feeling slightly better.
I had a weapon, but I still had a broke HOA and a vindictive ex-president living three doors down. I drove home. As I turned onto my street, I saw it, a news van, Channel 5 Action News. It was parked in front of Mrs. Higgins's house. And there, standing on her lawn, weeping into a microphone, was Patricia Higgins.
I pulled into my driveway and ran inside. I turned on the TV. There she was, live, bullied out of my position. Higgins was sobbing, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. A mob of angry men led by a violent radical stormed the meeting.
They threatened me. They released thousands of biting insects onto me. I fear for my life. I fear for the sanctity of this neighborhood. The reporter, a guy with great hair and zero investigative instinct, nodded sympathetically.
And you say this man, this Jack Miller, is now in control of the HOA funds. He is, Higgins wailed. God knows what he'll spend it on. Probably drugs or more bugs. My phone exploded.
Ping. Mike. Dude, are you watching Channel 5? Ping. Mom.
Jack, why is a lady on TV saying you bought drugs? Ping. Saul. The lawyer. Don't talk to the press.
Silence is golden. Libel is expensive. Call me. I called Saul. She's on TV, Saul, I yelled.
She's lying to the whole city. She's controlling the narrative, Saul said calmly. She's setting up a hostile environment suit. She's going to sue the HOA, meaning you, for emotional distress, wrongful termination, and harassment. She's going for a settlement.
We don't have any money to settle. She stole it all. Does she know you know that? I paused. I don't think so.
I just found out an hour ago. Good, Saul said. Keep it that way. If she sues, we enter Discovery. If we enter Discovery, we get to subpoena her bank records.
If we get her bank records, we find the husband's consulting firm. And then, Jack, we don't just win, we put her in jail. So, I have to let her sue me. You have to provoke her, Saul said. Make her think she has the upper hand.
Make her file the suit. Once it's filed, it's a matter of public record. Then we drop the hammer. How do I provoke her? You're the president now, Saul said, his voice taking on a wicked glee.
Enforce the rules strictly. I hung up. I looked out the window at Mrs. Higgins, who was wrapping up her interview. She looked triumphant. She thought she had won the PR war.
She didn't know I had the rule book. I spent the rest of the night reading the CC&Rs again. I wasn't looking for bird feeder rules this time. I was looking for everything else. I found it in article 6, section B, driveway maintenance.
Driveways must be free of oil stains, cracks, and commercial solicitation material. And article 3, section A, noise ordinances. No amplified sound devices permitted between 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m. without a permit. The news van, the microphone. I grabbed my clipboard.
I grabbed a tape measure. I put on my best HOA president face. I walked down the street. The news crew was packing up, but Higgins was still on the lawn chatting with the reporter. Excuse me, I said, walking up to them.
Higgins recoiled like I was a leper. Get away from me. He's the one, the bugman. The reporter swung the camera back toward me. Sir, care to comment on the allegations?
I'm not here to comment on allegations, I said, my voice calm, looking directly into the lens. I'm here in my capacity as interim HOA president to issue a citation. Higgins blinked. What, Mrs. Higgins? I said, clicking my pen.
You are currently in violation of article 3, section A, unauthorized use of amplified sound equipment, that microphone, on a residential lot without a permit. You You can't be serious, Higgins sputtered. I am also citing you for article 6, section B, I continued, pointing to the news van. Commercial vehicle parked on a private easement for purposes of solicitation. That's a fine of $100.
This is harassment, Higgins screamed. No, Patricia, I said, handing her the pink slip I had just filled out. This is is enforcement. I'm just protecting the property values, right? Isn't that what you always say?
I turned to the cameraman. And you guys need to move that van. You're blocking a fire hydrant. That's a city ordinance. I can call the tow truck or you can roll.
The cameraman looked at the reporter. The reporter looked at Higgins who was turning purple. Let's go. The reporter said, We got the shot. They scrambled into the van and drove off, leaving Higgins standing alone on her lawn holding a pink violation ticket.
She looked at me with pure unadulterated hatred. You will regret this, Jack Miller, she hissed. My lawyer is drafting the papers right now. I'm going to take your house. I'm going to take your car.
I'm going to take your precious bird feeders. Do it, I said, leaning in close. Sue me, Patricia, please. I'm begging you. She looked confused for a second.
Why would I want her to sue? You're insane, she muttered and stormed inside. I walked back home. My hands were shaking, but I was smiling. Step one, provocation complete.
Now, I just had to survive until the court date without the neighborhood finding out we were bankrupt. The next week was a blur of administrative hell. I had to hold my first official board meeting. The room was packed again, but the energy was different. The revolutionary fervor had been replaced by why hasn't the pool been cleaned.
The pool filter is broken, I announced from the table. We are assessing the repair costs. Assess faster, shouted Karen. My kids want to swim. We are waiting on quotes.
I lied. I couldn't tell them we couldn't afford a new filter because Mrs. Higgins had spent the pool money on consulting fees. Not yet. Saul said to keep it quiet until the lawsuit dropped. What about the Fourth of July party?
Mike asked. Usually, we hire a DJ. Is that still on? We are reviewing the budget for festivities, I said, sweating. You're acting just like her, someone shouted from the back.
That stung. I am trying to be fiscally responsible, I yelled back. Unlike the previous administration. Excuses, shouted Bob. I banged the gavel.
It broke. The head flew off and hit the wall. Meeting adjourned! I shouted, grabbing the handle and fleeing the room. I ran into the parking lot, gasping for air.
This was impossible. I was holding a dam made of Swiss cheese. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Hello, Mr. Miller.
A deep voice. This is a process server. I'm outside your house. You've been served. I drove home.
A teenager in a hoodie handed me a thick envelope. I tore it open in the driveway. Superior Court of Pennsylvania, Patricia Higgins versus Oak Creek Estates, HOA, and Jack Miller individually. Causes of action, wrongful removal from office, intentional infliction of emotional distress, assault via insect, defamation damages, sought $2,000,000, $2 million. She had done it.
She had taken the bait. I ran inside and scanned the document to Saul. She filed. I texted. Saul replied 3 minutes later.
Got it. It's glorious. She claims the ladybugs caused her permanent psychological scarring and social alienation. She also claims lost wages from her role as president. Lost wages.
I typed back. The president role is unpaid. Exactly, Saul replied. If she claims lost wages, she implies she was being paid. She just opened the door to her own financials.
I'm filing the subpoena for her bank records tomorrow morning. Game on. I felt a surge of hope. We had her. But then I turned the page of the lawsuit.
Plaintiff's exhibit A. Affidavit of Barry the Bugman Weiss. I froze. I read the affidavit. I, Barry Weiss, owner of Bugman Barry's, certified that Mr. Jack Miller contacted me on May 12th requesting ladybugs to deal with a pest in a pink windbreaker.
He specifically requested an aggressive species of beetle. My blood ran cold. Barry the traitor. She must have gotten to him. She must have threatened him or paid him off.
Aggressive species, I shouted. They're ladybugs. They eat aphids. But in a court of law, warriors and pest in a pink windbreaker sounded like premeditated assault. I called Saul back.
She has the bugman. I said, my voice shaking. She has a sworn statement saying I asked for warriors to attack her. There was a long silence on the line. Okay.
Saul said that complicates things. If she can prove malicious intent, the insurance won't cover your defense. You'll be on the hook personally. Personally? If the jury thinks you weaponized nature, Jack, you could lose your house.
I looked around my living room. I looked at the picture of my dog who lives with my parents, but still. I looked at my bird watching binoculars. I need to fix this, I said. I need to talk to Barry.
Do not talk to the witness, Saul yelled. That is witness tampering. I'm not going to tamper with him, I said, grabbing my keys. I'm going to buy some mulch and if we happen to chat, we happen to chat. Jack, if you go there, wear a wire, Saul said.
No, wait. Don't wear a wire. Pennsylvania is a two-party consent state. Just for God's sake, don't threaten him. I won't threaten him, I said.
I'm going to appeal to his love of the insect kingdom. Bugman Barry's was located in a strip mall next to a vape shop and a karate dojo. The windows were covered in pictures of spiders. I walked in. The bell chimed.
The air smelled of potting soil and crickets. Barry was behind the counter feeding a meal worm to a gecko. He looked up. When he saw me, he flinched. You, he said.
Barry, I said, We need to talk. I got nothing to say to you, man. Barry said, backing up. That lady, she's scary. She came in here with a lawyer.
They told me I was an accessory to ecoterrorism if I didn't sign that paper. Ecoterrorism? I laughed. Barry, you sell ladybugs. Since when is gardening terrorism?
She said you use them to swarm a public gathering. Barry said. She showed me the video, the screaming, the punch bowl. It looked chaotic. It was a potluck, Barry.
A bad one. Look, you know ladybugs aren't dangerous. You know I didn't ask for killer beetles. I asked for aphid eaters. You said you had a pest in a pink windbreaker.
Barry reminded me. That was a metaphor, a joke. Jokes don't look good on affidavit. Barry grunted. Look, man.
I can't help you. I can't lose my license. I'm the only supplier of organic mantis eggs in the tri-state area. I looked at Barry. He was a man of principle.
But fear had gotten to him. I needed to show him the bigger picture. Barry, I said, she didn't just sue me. She hired Pest-Be-Gone to spray peppermint oil and high-pressure water on the ladybugs. On your ladybugs.
Barry stopped. He looked at me, his eyes wide. She She sprayed them. $5,000 Worth of chemical warfare, I said, exaggerating slightly. Peppermint isn't a chemical, but Barry didn't need to know that.
She wiped them out, Barry. 5,000 Of your finest convergent beetles washed into the storm drain. Drowned. Barry's face darkened. He put the mealworm down.
She killed the merchandise. She massacred them, I said solemnly. And now she's using you to justify it. She's making you the accomplice to a ladybug genocide. Barry slammed his hand on the counter.
That witch. Exactly. I said, Barry, if you testify for her, you're saying that ladybugs are dangerous vermin that deserve to be exterminated. Is that the legacy of Bugman Barry? Barry breathed heavily.
He looked at his gecko. He looked at a poster of a praying mantis. No, Barry said. No, it ain't. Ladybugs are friends.
Then retract the affidavit, I said. Tell the truth. Tell the court I bought them for aphids and tell them that Mrs. Higgins is the real enemy of the insect world. Barry nodded slowly. I'll do it.
I'll call her lawyer. I'll tell him to shove his affidavit up his well, you know. Don't call her lawyer, I said. Call mine. I handed him Saul's card.
And Barry, do you have the receipts? The ones showing I paid for organic gardening supplies? I keep everything, Barry said, tapping his temple. Carbon copies. Good man.
I walked out of the shop. I had flipped the witness. I had saved the case. But as I got into my car, my phone buzzed. It was Janice.
Jack, you need to come to the pool now. Why? I texted back. Because the pump just exploded, she wrote. And the pool is turning green and it's 90° out.
I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. One fire at a time, I told myself. One fire at a time. I drove to the pool. When I got there, it was worse than I thought.
The water was a murky algaefilled swamp. A crowd of angry parents in swimsuits was gathered by the gate. Fix it! Someone yelled when they saw me. I looked at the pool.
I looked at the crowd. I realized I had no money to fix it. I had to make a choice. Tell them the truth and risk a riot or lie and buy time. I looked at the green water.
We were converting it to a natural swimming pond. I blurted out. The crowd went silent. A what? Karen asked.
A natural biopool. I improvised, channeling my inner Higgins. Chemicals are bad for the skin. Chlorine is outdated. We are introducing algae for health.
They stared at me. Is he serious? Mike asked Bob. I read about that in Goop, one mom said uncertainly. It's supposed to be good for exfoliation.
Exactly, I said, seizing the lifeline. Exfoliation? It's a spa treatment. No extra charge. It was the stupidest lie I had ever told, but it worked for now.
Okay, Mike said, shrugging. I guess I'll try it, he jumped into the green sludge. Mike, no, I whispered, but it was too late. Mike surfaced, spitting out green water. Tastes like kale, he yelled.
The crowd murmured. Appreciatively. I backed away slowly. I had bought maybe 24 hours before Mike got an ear infection and sued me too. I needed to find Higgins money and fast.
I dialed Saul. I got Barry, I said. Now get me those bank records. I need to find the gold before the villagers burn down my castle. Working on it, Saul said.
But Jack, watch your back. Higgins isn't done. I just got a notification. She's filing a motion to freeze your assets until the trial. Let her try, I said.
I'm fighting for the birds, Saul. And the birds always win. I looked up. Red the cardinal was sitting on the pool fence looking at the green water. He chirped.
Don't drink that, Red. I said it's a spa treatment. You know you've reached a low point in your life when you were hiding behind your own curtains to avoid a neighbor named Mike the Grill Guy because you accidentally gave him a swamp-based ear infection. It had been 3 days since I declared the algae choked community pool a natural bio spa. The lie had held for exactly 48 hours.
Then the itching started. I watched from my living room window as Mike walked up my driveway. He was wearing a bandage over his left ear. He looked like a wounded soldier returning from a very lame war. He rang the doorbell.
I didn't answer. He rang it again. Then he texted me. Ping. Mike.
I know you're in there, Jack. My ear is leaking green fluid. My doctor says I have pond-scum otitis. Open the door. I opened the door.
Hey, Mike, I said, forcing a smile. How's the detox going? Mike pointed to his ear. It's not a detox, Jack. It's a fungus.
The doctor asked if I'd been swimming in a stagnant bayou. I told him, No, just the HOA pool. He laughed, Jack. He laughed at me. I'm sorry, Mike, I said, dropping the act.
The pump is broken. Higgins spent the repair money on consultants. I panicked. Mike sighed. He was a simple man.
He just wanted to grill meats and swim in chlorinated water. Is that true? She spent the pool money. She spent everything. Mike, we're broke.
I'm trying to find where it went so I can fix your ear and the pool. But until then, stay out of the water. Mike nodded slowly. You have until the 4th of July, Jack. If I can't do a cannonball by Independence Day, I'm joining her lawsuit.
He walked away, clutching his ear. I closed the door and leaned against it. The pressure was mounting. The 4th of July was 2 weeks away. If I didn't solve the case of the missing money by then, I was going to be tarred and feathered by a mob of itchy suburbanites.
My phone rang. It was Saul. Jack, Saul barked. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want?
Bad news? I said, I'm already in a mood. The bad news is that Higgins lawyer, Arthur Worthington, has expedited the deposition. They want you in the chair tomorrow morning. They smell blood.
They think you're crumbling under the pressure of the bioterrorism narrative. I am crumbling, Saul. Mike has a fungus. Ignore the fungus. Focus on the good news.
Please tell me the good news is that she dropped dead. Better, Saul said. We got the bank records and we found the invoices for Pristine Vistas LLC. My heart skipped a beat. And it's sloppy, Jack.
It's so sloppy. It's insulting. The LLC is registered to a P.O. Box in Delaware, but the checks were deposited into an account at First National Bank of Oak Creek. The signatory on the account, Arnold Higgins.
We knew that, I said. Her husband. Yes, but here's the kicker, Saul continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The invoices aren't just for consulting. There are line items for physical assets.
Construction of grand entrance signage, $45,000. Installation of rare botanical specimens, $30,000. Perimeter security fencing upgrade, 25,000 on. I frowned. Saul, I walk past the entrance sign every day.
It hasn't changed in 10 years. It's just a brick wall with the words Oak Creek on it. Exactly. Saul said, If they build the HOA for 45 grand to build a sign that was already there, that's not just embezzlement. That's fraud.
That's creating false documents. But we need proof. We need to prove that the work wasn't done. You want me to audit the neighborhood? I said, I want you to be Sherlock Holmes.
Saul said, Take pictures, get samples. If they claim they installed rare botanical specimens, I want to know if those trees are actually rare or if they're just private hedges from Lowe's. Bring me the evidence before the deposition tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. If we catch her lying under oath about the improvements, the lawsuit vanishes and she goes to prison. I'm on it. I said I needed a partner.
I couldn't do this alone. I needed someone who knew about construction, materials, and cynicism. I called Bob. Bob was the guy who measured his driveway with a toothbrush. He was detail oriented to a fault.
He was perfect. Bob, I said when he answered, I need your help. We're going on a treasure hunt. I'm busy, Bob said. I'm writing a letter to the board about the green pool.
I am the board. Bob, stop writing the letter and listen. Do you want your $200 assessment back? Do you want Higgins to pay for Mike's ear? There was a pause.
I'm listening. Meet me at the entrance sign in 10 minutes. Bring a screwdriver and a ladder. 10 Minutes later, Bob and I were standing in front of the grand entrance of Oak Creek Estates. It was a curved brick wall with gold lettering.
It looked fine. Okay, I said, holding the invoice Saul had emailed me. According to this, on November 14th of last year, Pristine Vistas billed us $45,000 for installation of imported Italian travertine facade and gold leaf lettering. Bob squinted at the wall. That's brick, Jack.
That's the same brick that's on my house. It's builder's beige. It costs 40 cents a unit. Maybe they put the travertine over the brick, I suggested. Bob walked up to the wall.
He tapped it with the handle of his screwdriver. Clink, clink. Solid brick, Bob said. Then he looked at the letters. Oak Creek Estates.
They looked shiny and gold. Gold leaf, Bob muttered. $45,000. He climbed the ladder. He pulled out a pocketk knife.
Bob, don't scratch it if it's real gold, I warned. If it's real gold, it won't peel, Bob said. He dug the tip of the knife into the letter O. He flicked his wrist. A long curly strip of gold plastic peeled off, revealing gray foam underneath.
Bob stared at it. I stared at it. Styrofoam, Bob whispered. It's high-density foam painted gold. Is that standard for a strip mall?
Maybe, Bob said, climbing down, his face red with anger. For $45,000? No. This is a $500 sign, Jack. Maybe a thousand if you count the glue. I took a picture.
Strike one. We moved on to the rare botanical specimens. The invoice listed six mature Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood' Japanese maples. Cost $5,000 each. Total $30,000.
We walked to the common area where the new trees were planted. There were indeed six trees. They were red. They were small. Bob examined the tags.
They were still on the branches. Higgins hadn't even bothered to remove the plastic tags from the nursery. Big-box garden center. Red maple, $49.99. Bob looked at me.
He looked at the tag. He looked at the invoice. She charged us $5,000 for a $50 tree, Bob said. His voice was trembling. This was a man who reused zip-top bags.
Financial waste was his kryptonite. She marked it up 10,000%. I said, snapping a photo of the tag. That's a bold profit margin. She's a thief, Bob said.
She's robbing us blind. One more, I said. The perimeter security fencing upgrade, $25,000. We walked to the back of the property where the neighborhood bordered the woods. There was a fence there.
It was a chain-link fence. It looked rusty. Upgrade? Bob asked. This fence has been here since 1990.
Look at the lichen. I shook the fence. It wobbled. Maybe she upgraded the underground supports, I guessed. Bob looked down.
He kicked the dirt away from the post. There was no concrete, just dirt. She didn't do anything, Bob said. She invoiced us for a ghost fence. I took a picture of the rusty post.
We got her, Bob, I said. We have the invoices. We have the pictures. We have the styrofoam. I want to be there, Bob said, gripping his screwdriver.
When you take her down, I want to see the look on her face. You can't come to the deposition, I said. But you can come to the victory party. Just don't swim in the pool. The next morning, I put on my only suit.
It was tight in the shoulders. I grabbed my folder of evidence, the styrofoam sample, the tree tag, the photos. I met Saul outside the law office of Worthington, Smith & Sharks. You look nervous, Saul said. I'm terrified, I admitted.
I've never been deposed. What if they trick me? They will try, Saul said. They will ask you about the birds. They will ask you about the warriors.
They will try to make you angry. Don't get angry. Get smug. You have the ace. Wait for the right moment to play it.
We walked into the conference room. It was intimidating. A long mahogany table, a court reporter with a tiny typing machine, a video camera pointed at a chair, and sitting across the table was Arthur Worthington, a man who looked like he was made of expensive leather, and Mrs. Higgins. Higgins was wearing a neck brace. I stared at her.
A neck brace? Really? Soft tissue damage, Worthington said smoothly, not looking up from his papers. From the flailing caused by the insect assault. Please sit down.
I sat. Saul sat next to me. Mr. Miller, Worthington began, turning on the camera. You are under oath. Do you understand what that means?
It means if I lie, I go to jail, I said. Kind of like if someone steals money, they go to jail. Higgins narrowed her eyes. Let's stick to the questions, Worthington said. Mr. Miller, did you or did you not purchase 5,000 predatory beetles on May 12th?
I purchased Hippodamia convergens, I said. Ladybugs, they are carnivorous only to aphids. Unless Mrs. Higgins identifies as an aphid, she was in no danger. Objection, Worthington muttered. Non-responsive.
Mr. Miller, are you aware that Mrs. Higgins suffers from entomophobia, fear of insects? I am aware she suffers from a fear of losing control. I said, I didn't know about the bugs. You released them at a community potluck, Worthington pressed. A crowded event.
Did you intend to cause panic? I intended to garden, I said. Malicious compliance. Sure. Panic?
No. The panic was caused by Mrs. Higgins screaming and the pest in the pink windbreaker comment in the affidavit. Metaphor, I said. Poetic license. Worthington leaned back. He thought he was winning.
He thought he was painting me as a loose cannon. Mr. Miller, Worthington said, smiling a predatory smile. You are now the acting president of the HOA. You have access to the accounts. Isn't it true that your revolution was motivated by a desire to control the finances, to wipe away your own fines?
No, I said. Then why did you take over? Why humiliate a woman who has served this community for 10 years? Served? I laughed.
I looked at Saul. Saul nodded. Now, I took over because I wanted to feed birds, I said, opening my folder. But since taking office, I've found some interesting things about how Mrs. Higgins served the community. This is irrelevant, Worthington said.
This deposition is about the ladybug incident. It goes to character, Saul interjected. And motivation. Continue, Jack. I pulled out the invoice for the sign.
Mr. Worthington, I said, Are you familiar with Pristine Vistas LLC? Higgins went rigid. The neck brace creaked. I don't see how Worthington started. This is an invoice, I said, sliding it across the table.
For $45,000 for a travertine and gold leaf entrance sign dated last November. Worthington looked at the paper. He looked at his client. Higgins was staring straight ahead, her face pale. And this, I said, placing a jagged piece of gold-painted foam on the table.
Is a piece of that sign. I peeled it off yesterday. It's styrofoam, Arthur. It costs $12 at Home Depot. Worthington stopped moving.
And this, I continued, sliding the photo of the tree tag, is a receipt for a $50 maple tree that the HOA paid $5,000 for. And this, I said, sliding the picture of the rusty fence. Is a $25,000 invisible fence. Stop, Worthington said. He looked at Higgins.
Patricia, what is this? He's lying. Higgins shrieked. He planted that. He faked it.
The checks were deposited under your husband’s name, Patricia, I said gently. We have the bank records. We know the money went into your joint account. We know you used HOA dues, our money, to renovate your kitchen or buy that neck brace or whatever you did. I Higgins stammered.
That's fraud, Arthur, Saul said, leaning forward. Federal wire fraud. Actually, since the checks crossed state lines to the Delaware LLC, and since you're suing my client for defamation, well, truth is an absolute defense against defamation. She is a thief, so no defamation. Worthington looked at the documents.
He was a high-priced lawyer. He knew a sinking ship when he saw one. He closed his folder. He turned off the video camera. He turned to Mrs. Higgins.
Mrs. Higgins, Worthington said, his voice ice cold. I think we need to have a private conversation in the hallway immediately. But Arthur, now Worthington barked. They left the room. I sat back in my chair.
I let out a long breath. Did we win? I asked Saul. We didn't just win, Saul said, grinning. We just nuked them from orbit.
Worthington isn't going to let her continue the suit. If this goes to court, she goes to jail. He's going to beg for a settlement. I don't want money, I said. Well, I want the HOA's money back, but mostly I want her gone.
10 Minutes later, Worthington came back in alone. He looked tired. Mr. Miller? He said, My client is prepared to drop the lawsuit with prejudice, meaning she can never file it again. And Saul asked, And she will resign from the board permanently.
She will sell her house and move out of Oak Creek Estates within 60 days. And the money? I asked. The 150,000? Worthington winced.
That might be complicated. The funds are largely depleted. Depleted? I asked. Spent on what?
Gambling? Worthington sighed. Apparently, Mr. Higgins has a problem with online poker. I stared at him. Our pool money.
My bird feeder fine. All of it gone to a virtual poker table. She has equity in the house, Saul said sharply. When she sells, the HOA gets paid first before the mortgage and before she receives anything. We want a lien on the property for the full amount plus legal fees.
Worthington nodded. We can agree to that. Good, I said. And one more thing. Worthington looked at me wearily.
Yes. I want a public apology, I said, on the Nextdoor app. And I want her to admit that ladybugs are not terrorists. Worthington rubbed his eyes. I'll draft it.
We walked out of the office. The sun was shining. The air smelled sweet. You did it, Jack. Saul said.
You slew the dragon. Yeah, I said, but the kingdom is still broke until that house sells. Details, Saul waved his hand. Go home. Feed your birds.
I drove home. I pulled into the driveway. The neighborhood was quiet. No police, no news vans. I walked to the backyard.
I filled the bird feeder. Red fluttered down immediately. We won, Red, I whispered. She's moving. I went inside and opened a beer.
I was just about to relax when my phone buzzed. Ping. Elite Community Management portal. Urgent alert. I groaned.
What now? I opened the app. Alert. Water main break reported at the community pool. Basement of the clubhouse is flooding.
Electrical system compromised. I stared at the phone. The pool again. I hadn't fixed the pump. And now, apparently, the pipes had burst.
I grabbed my keys. The dragon was dead, but the castle was crumbling. I drove to the clubhouse. Water was pouring out from under the door. Mike was there.
He was standing in the puddle, wearing flip-flops. Hey, Jack, Mike said, pointing at the flood. Is this part of the spa treatment, too? A hydrotherapy feature? No, Mike, I said, defeated.
This is just Monday. I waded toward the shutoff valve. I was the president. This was my mess now. And somewhere in a casino in the cloud, Mr. Higgins was folding a bad hand with my money.