“Sweet ride,” Logan said, running one hand along the freshly polished fender.

“V8, 429 Cobra Jet,” Elijah replied, gently moving Logan’s hand away. “I just finished waxing that spot.”

Logan’s eyes lit up with the familiar look of someone who had always been allowed to take whatever interested him.

“You should let me take it for a spin,” he said. “I’m an excellent driver. I got my license last month.”

Elijah nearly laughed. A seventeen-year-old with one month of driving experience was not getting behind the wheel of a four-hundred-horsepower muscle car.

“Not in this lifetime,” he said.

Logan’s face hardened.

“My dad pays a lot in HOA fees. Like, a lot. That means we own part of this street. Technically, that makes me part owner of everything on it.”

The logic was so absurd that Elijah had to pause before answering.

“That isn’t how property ownership works,” he said evenly.

“We’ll see about that,” Logan muttered before stomping away.

Twenty minutes later, Vivien appeared at Elijah’s door dressed for battle. She wore crisp white pants, a navy blazer pinned with the HOA emblem, and heels that clicked like gunfire across the porch.

“Mr. Grant,” she said, skipping any greeting, “my son tells me you were rude to him.”

“I told him he couldn’t drive my car,” Elijah answered.

Vivien’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

“Logan is a very responsible young man. When he shows interest in something, it’s only neighborly to accommodate him. We’re a community here.”

“That is a vintage car worth more than many people earn in a year,” Elijah replied. “No one drives it but me.”

“We’ll see whether that vehicle even complies with HOA regulations,” Vivien sniffed. “I’ll be reviewing the guidelines tonight.”

And review them she did.

Within days, Elijah began receiving violation notices that bordered on ridiculous. One claimed the Mustang was too loud, even though he had not started it anywhere near Vivien’s house. Another claimed the blue paint was too bright and could distract passing drivers. The final notice accused him of owning a commercial vehicle because, as Vivien wrote, the Mustang could potentially be used for racing.

Elijah answered every notice with calm precision, quoting the HOA bylaws word for word. Every citation she issued collapsed under the actual policy. Each time she lost an argument, Vivien became angrier.

By the following Saturday, the conflict escalated.

Logan returned with two friends. Elijah was mowing his lawn when he spotted the three boys heading up the driveway.

“Hey, Mr. Grant,” Logan called, his tone falsely cheerful. “My boys and I were wondering whether you’d reconsider letting us take the car out. Just a quick spin around the block.”