My truck had now become a symbol, a silhouette-based threat. “Incredible.” I flipped the packet closed. “Karen, this is fraud,” she stiffened. “This is community leadership. What you’re doing is illegal.” “What I’m doing,” she said, jabbing her clipboard toward the sky, “is necessary.” “For who?” “For everyone.” The delusion radiated off her like heat. “Karen, I said calmly. “You cannot create fake councils to collect fees. You cannot demand keys to people’s vehicles. You cannot fine shadows.” She smiled. A tight and brittle thing. “We’ll see what the legal advisory panel thinks.” “Who’s on the panel?” I asked, she hesitated. “Me?” I almost choked. “So you created a council, appointed yourself coordinator and then created a legal panel which is also you.” She crossed her arms. “Someone has to take responsibility and that someone is always you.” “Exactly.” I rubbed my forehead. “Karen, do you hear how strange that sounds?” “I hear how necessary it sounds.” This woman needed not an HOA but a hobby. Before I could respond, she thrust a clipboard toward me. “Sign the compliance acknowledgement.” I didn’t touch it. “No.” “Very well.” She scribbled something onto her pad. “Refusal to acknowledge notice. Additional fee. $13.” Not 10, not 15. $13. Why 13? Because Karen operated on chaos math. She walked off smug as a cat who thought she’d caught a mouse. Except I wasn’t the mouse.