Mr. Mills, does the homeowner wish to respond? I stood up. The folder stayed on the chair. I looked at her, then at the room.
63 people who had driven here on a Thursday evening because they were worried or curious or afraid or all three. "Thank you for the meeting, Mrs. Chen. I have one question." "Who do you believe supplies the electricity to every home in this room?"
Something behind her expression shifted. Not visible to everyone, but I saw it. A small recalibration like a machine registering an unexpected input. "That is not relevant to tonight's agenda."
"I suspect it will become very relevant soon," I said. "That's all I have." I sat down.
The room didn't know what to make of that. I could feel it. 63 people trying to work out whether they just missed something or whether I had. Two people near the middle whispered to each other.
A woman by the door shifted her weight. Margaret held my gaze a moment longer than necessary, then called for the vote. "Should the board pursue further legal action against the homeowner at 14 Elmcrest Drive for ongoing non-compliance?" Board member one: yes.
Board member two: yes. Margaret: yes. Three to zero. She gathered her papers with the small, composed smile of someone who had done this before and expected to do it again.
I picked up the folder, nodded once to Tom Garza, and walked out. The parking lot was cool and smelled like someone's fireplace three streets over. I sat in my car without starting it for a few minutes. She had just stood in front of 63 homeowners and told them I was the threat to this community.
She had put work order 2241 on a projector screen and presented it as evidence of responsible governance. She had called a vote to escalate legal action against me and framed it as protecting property values. She had handed me a stage, a microphone, and an audience of 63 people who now had a question she could not answer. I started the car and called my attorney from the driveway.
The County Utility Commission had confirmed the hearing date that afternoon, October 19th. They had reviewed the filing, flagged it as a priority matter given the franchise implications, and would be sending formal notice to all relevant parties within five business days. Margaret Chen would have certified mail on her doorstep by Tuesday. She was going to need a different kind of attorney than the one helping her draft fine notices.
The County Utility Commission hearing room was smaller than I expected. A rectangular table at the front, three commissioners behind it. A court reporter in the corner, fluorescent lights that hummed at a frequency just below conscious notice, 14 chairs for observers. Tom Garza took the second seat from the left, Mrs. Patterson beside him.
Margaret Chen sat at the respondents table with an attorney I didn't recognize, a younger man in a gray suit who kept straightening papers that didn't need straightening. My attorney Richard Callaway set his briefcase on the table and took out one document first. Just one. He placed it in front of the commission chair without a word of introduction.