I stepped outside at 7:14 in the morning to find a bolt cutter against my meter panel.
A white truck from FastCut Electrical was blocking my driveway, engine still running, tailgate down.
Two men crouched at my exterior panel. One of them already had his hands on the lock.
"Step back, sir." The crew supervisor didn't look up. "HOA compliance action."
I didn't move. A woman in an HOA polo shirt walked toward me from the edge of my driveway and pressed the document against my chest with two fingers. Not handed it. Pressed it the way someone slides a parking citation to a stranger they've already dismissed.
Margaret Chen, board president, Ridgecrest Meadows HOA. Work order 2241. "The HOA owns all utility infrastructure serving this community. Your connections are non-compliant. We're authorized to act."
Every word of that was wrong. She didn't know that yet. I unfolded the paper.
Two pages. Signed by Margaret, stamped with the HOA's official seal, authorizing FastCut Electrical to perform a compliance correction at my address. My lot number, my name. I read it once slowly, then looked up.
"Do these men have a county utility commission work permit?" I asked. Margaret looked at me for the first time over the top of her sunglasses. "We don't need a county permit for internal HOA compliance work," she said without a pause.
Final. Like she was citing a statute she'd memorized. Then she turned back toward the crew. "Continue."
I thought: she just said that out loud. In front of witnesses. "Before they continue, I'd like the name of the contractor in writing." She didn't answer.
She nodded at the supervisor. I heard it a moment later. A flat, hollow pop, like a sentence cut off mid-word. Inside my house, the light I'd left on in the kitchen went dark.