Jack and I had just moved into a small rental house for a temporary work assignment.

It was a quiet neighborhood with a patchy lawn and tan bricks.

We’d barely finished unpacking when a woman named Lindsey,

dressed in pastel and holding a tray of cookies, stopped by.

She was overly friendly, but her eyes kept darting around like she was sizing us up.

She warned us about a strict HOA rule:

only one car allowed per driveway. We shrugged it off; we weren’t staying long.

But three days later, I woke up to the sound of tow trucks hauling both our cars away.

Lindsey, wearing a bathrobe, stood nearby, looking smug

.I called her out on it, mentioning

a small sticker on my car that indicated we were part of a government operation. Lindsey’s face went,

pale when she realized she had just interfered with an undercover investigation.

I made a quick call, and the next morning, a suited agent arrived at her door.

The agent explained that she had disrupted an active federal investigation by towing two marked government vehicles,

costing $25,000 in damages.

Lindsey was left stunned and helpless,

staring at her shattered coffee mug.

Jack couldn’t resist a final jab

: “Maybe next time, just bake the cookies and leave it at that.”