"We're reviewing the threat assessment. If anyone comes to the property, don't assume they're legitimate officers just because they're wearing uniforms."
I looked toward the street.
"I already know that."
She paused.
Then she replied, "I thought you might."
The morning of the assault began like any other.
I woke shortly after seven, made coffee, and opened the kitchen window to let in the cool air. The house was quiet except for the ticking clock above the stove, and sunlight was beginning to reach the flowers near the porch. I spent nearly an hour working in the garden, removing weeds and checking the small irrigation line my wife had insisted we install years earlier.
Around nine-thirty, I went inside to change my shirt.
I put on a light-gray long-sleeved polo, charcoal trousers, and comfortable black shoes. I had an appointment at the pharmacy later that morning, and I wanted to leave early enough to stop by the grocery store.
My dark-gray sedan was parked beside the front lawn.
I was checking the tire pressure when I heard a vehicle approach.
A dark SUV stopped near the curb.
Two men stepped out wearing navy uniforms.
The taller one carried a wooden baton.
I straightened.
Then I saw the HOA president's white luxury SUV pull up behind them.
She emerged in her bright-orange blazer, carrying a clipboard and wearing the expression of someone who expected to enjoy what happened next.
I looked toward the men.
"Can I help you?"
The taller one approached without introducing himself.
"You're the resident refusing community enforcement orders?"
I remained beside my car.
"I'm the owner of this property."
He looked toward the president.
She nodded sharply.
"That's him."
The man turned back.
"You're required to leave the premises."
I stared.
"Under what legal authority?"
He lifted his baton slightly.
"Police authority."
"Which department?"
He stepped closer.
"Don't start with me."
I kept my voice calm.
"May I see your identification?"
His face hardened.
"You don't get to question an officer."
I glanced at his uniform.
The badge was positioned incorrectly.
The shoulder patch bore the familiar counterfeit-looking eagle.
And the equipment on his belt did not match the configuration I'd expect from our local department.
I felt my pulse increase.
But I kept my hands visible.
"Then please call a marked local patrol unit and have them verify your authority."