Garrett was 61, retired, and had spent 30 years as a justice of the peace before hanging it up to restore vintage Mustangs in his garage. He had the quiet authority of a man who'd heard 10,000 lies under oath and could smell one through a closed door.
"She's done this before," he said, settling into the lawn chair I kept near my workbench.
"The Winstons on Sycamore, fined into foreclosure over a basketball hoop. County records show the house was bought at auction by her husband's cousin for 60 cents on the dollar."
"The Mendozas on Elm, she reported their garden shed to code enforcement 17 times in 2 years. They sold and left."
"The Harrisons on Oak, she declared their fire pit a burn hazard. They lasted 8 months."
He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. Six names, six families, all gone within Tammy's nine-year reign.
None of them fought back publicly. All of them left the way people do when the cost of staying becomes heavier than the cost of losing your home.
"She doesn't enforce rules," Garrett said, taking a long pull from his beer. "She weaponizes them, and she picks people who don't have the resources or the stomach to fight."
I thanked him, added the names to my file, then I waited for what I knew was coming next. It came on a Monday.
Tammy filed a formal complaint with the Collin County Code Enforcement Division, alleging that my generator was a fire and explosion hazard to adjacent residential properties. She attached photographs taken from the sidewalk at angles designed to make the Generac look as industrial and threatening as possible.
She demanded an emergency inspection. The county sent Larry Bowen, 28 years as an electrical inspector, the kind of man who wears steel-toed boots to a desk job because he might get called to a site before lunch.
He spent 45 minutes going through every connection, every ground wire, every junction box, and every foot of conduit running from the Generac to my panel. When he finished, he stood up, wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a shop towel, and shook his head.
"This is one of the cleanest residential generator installs I've seen in Collin County. Whoever did this knows exactly what they're doing."
"I did it myself," I said. He nodded like that explained everything.
Then he dropped his voice.
"Between you and me, she's called us four times in three weeks. We turned her down three times because there was no basis."
"This time, she threatened to call the county commissioner's office and go to the press if we didn't send someone."
Four calls, three rejections, one political threat, all for a generator that exceeded every code in the book. Larry filed his report.
No violations found, full compliance with the National Electrical Code and Collin County residential standards. He noted in the comments that the installation exceeded standard residential quality.
I asked for a copy. He gave me two.
I mailed one to Tammy, certified, return receipt requested. There was no cover letter, just the report.
Sometimes the quietest response is the loudest. It didn't slow her down.
It sped her up. That Thursday she called an emergency board meeting.
Brenda sent homeowner notice with 12 hours lead time, barely legal under the CC&Rs. Three board members showed up wearing the expressions of men who've been voluntold to attend.
Tammy pushed through a motion to double my fine, $500 a day, citing my continued non-compliance with community safety standards. The vote was four to zero.