"Violation three: window screens show excessive oxidation." They were 8 years old, normal wear. "Violation four: driveway oil stain exceeds acceptable parameters." A spot the size of a quarter from the previous owner's car.
That's when I'd had enough. "All right, stop." I stepped between Vivian and my front door. "Show me the exact bylaw that gives you inspection authority, or get off my property."
Trevor perked up like I had just insulted his mother's cooking. "Dude, you can't talk to her like that. She runs this place."
"No, she doesn't. She's a volunteer on a homeowners' committee, not the Queen of England." Vivian's face went nuclear.
"How dare you?"
"Show me in writing. Right now, or leave." The silence stretched like a guitar string about to snap. The sound of a lawn mower two streets over seemed deafeningly loud. Finally, Vivian spun on her heel.
"You'll be hearing from the board about this. Formal proceedings will be initiated." Trevor lingered as Mommy stormed back to the BMW. He wandered over to my electrical meter, took a photo with his phone, then my license plate.
The little creep was building some kind of dossier. "You have no idea who you're messing with," he said, that prep school smirk still plastered on his face. "Yeah, well, you're about to learn about trespassing laws if you don't get off my property." He laughed, this entitled dismissive sound that made my fists clench.
"We'll see about that." I should have known the retaliation was coming. That evening, my phone rang. City code enforcement.
"Mr. Rodriguez, we received a complaint about unlicensed electrical work at your address. We'll need to send an inspector Monday morning." My blood pressure spiked.