We sat in silence for a moment, the waves gently lapping the dock. Then my phone buzzed. Another message from the Coast Guard. Jim leaned in. “What now?” I opened it. My stomach sank. “Oh, no,” I whispered. Jim’s face lit up. “Ooh. I love when you say that.” I handed him the phone. He read the message aloud. “In reviewing the suspect’s statements and video evidence, additional liabilities have been identified regarding the damaged buoy. Please be advised that charges may escalate, and you may be required to give further testimony.” Jim gasped dramatically. “She’s leveling up. Karen has unlocked federal consequences.” Todd groaned and buried his face in his hands, and I knew then, knew in my bones, we still were not anywhere close to the end of this story.
Karen’s meltdown at the marina had been dramatic enough, but the aftermath was where the real chaos began. And not the loud, explosive chaos she was known for. No. This was quieter. More desperate. The kind of chaos that brews when someone realizes the world is no longer bending to their will. The Coast Guard’s message had shaken me more than I expected. Additional liabilities. Testimony required. Escalating charges. Jim, of course, was thrilled. “This is amazing,” he whispered. “She’s speedrunning federal offenses like she’s trying to unlock an achievement.” “It’s not amazing,” I muttered. “It’s exhausting.” Todd sank deeper into the bench, as if hoping it would swallow him. “She’s not going to handle this well,” he said. “She’s already furious about the community service. If she finds out she might have to go to federal court—” He did not finish the sentence, but we all knew where it was going. Jim nodded gravely. “We might need to reinforce the HOA clubhouse windows.”
I ignored him and headed back to my truck. My brain needed silence. Clarity. Distance. But fate, and Karen, never allow such luxuries. That evening, as I prepped dinner, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone stomping up my driveway. Not walking. Stomping. Like a toddler mid-tantrum. Then my doorbell rang. Five times. Rapid-fire. Jim texted immediately. “Bro, did Karen just run to your door? I’m watching from my window. She looks like a flamingo that stepped on a rake.” I sighed, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.