“She’s checking.”
The Reporter said nothing.
The HOA President walked toward the charger.
Removed the cable.
Plugged it into her Tesla.
The charger clicked.
Green light.
Charging began.
The Homeowner opened his app.
Session started.
The Reporter stared at the screen.
“How many times before?”
“Eight unauthorized.”
“And she has never asked?”
“Never.”
The Reporter nodded.
“Your call.”
The Homeowner waited another thirty seconds.
Then stepped outside.
The HOA President turned.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Homeowner.”
“Unplug your car.”
She straightened.
“This again?”
The Homeowner stared.
“This again?”
The HOA President crossed her arms.
“You installed solar infrastructure in an association pursuing community sustainability goals.”
“My solar panels are mine.”
“Nobody is taking your panels.”
“You’re taking the electricity.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Your system produces excess power.”
The Homeowner almost laughed.
“That is not permission.”
“You’re being deliberately difficult.”
“Unplug your Tesla.”
She stepped closer.
Her voice sharpened.
“You don’t own the sun.”
The Homeowner stared.
“No.”
Then pointed toward the charger.
“But I bought the panels.”
“The battery.”
“The charger.”
“The wiring.”
“And the electricity contract.”
She dismissed that with one hand.
“You’ve received financial incentives for installing solar.”
“So?”
“That infrastructure benefits the community.”
“My refrigerator benefits the community too?”
She glared.
“You’re reducing this to nonsense.”
“No.”
“You did.”
The Homeowner raised his phone.
“Eight charging sessions.”
Her face changed almost imperceptibly.
He continued.
“Twenty-two kilowatt-hours last Tuesday.”
“Seventeen before that.”
“Twenty-four the week you submitted your grant application.”
The HOA President stared.
“You have been tracking me?”
“It’s my charger.”
She recovered quickly.
“You should be thanking the association.”
“For what?”
“We are trying to secure funding that could increase property values and build shared charging infrastructure.”
“Using my house?”
“It was included as an example.”
“Without permission.”
“Preliminary planning doesn’t require every resident to sign off on conceptual data.”
The Homeowner looked toward the garage.
Then back.
“Is that your final answer?”
She scoffed.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you one more chance to explain.”
The HOA President stepped toward him.
“I don’t owe you an explanation for doing my job.”
The garage door began to rise.
Slowly.
The mechanical motor hummed.
The HOA President looked toward it.
At first, she seemed confused.
Then the bottom of a tripod appeared.
A camera.