“You stole candy from my daughter.”
Karen's expression hardened.
“Your daughter was out after curfew.”
“She is eight.”
“Then you failed to supervise her properly.”
Julie flinched as though she'd been slapped.
Rachel moved first.
Then Priya.
Then Luis.
Then half the parents shifted closer.
Karen noticed.
For the first time that night, she looked uncertain.
I said:
“Apologize.”
She looked at me.
“For enforcing rules?”
“For insulting a mother whose child you made cry.”
“No.”
Then Martin stepped out from behind the Hendersons' yard display.
He had been filming quietly.
“Karen,” he said.
“This ends now.”
She turned.
“You have no authority to countermand an active safety measure.”
“I'm the HOA president.”
“And I'm Chair of Safety and Standards.”
“You hired guards without board approval.”
“I acted under discretionary authority.”
“You confiscated children's property.”
“I secured items collected in violation.”
“You turned Halloween into a police state.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You are weak, Martin.”
He took a breath.
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“I was weak when I let you keep pushing.”
“I was weak when I let your committees become weapons.”
“I was weak when I thought you'd stop if we gave you small things.”