Gemotions

The email arrived at precisely 9:03 AM. Barnaby checked the time, then re-read the message. His neighbor, desperate to get his fence approved by the HOA, had finally caved. He was going to use the materials Barnaby had recommended, the same design, even the same contractor.

Barnaby leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. He felt the familiar lightness in his chest, a sense of quiet triumph. He’d spent weeks preparing his arguments, carefully crafting his presentations, making sure all the right people were in the loop.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee. Justice, he thought, was often served cold, and with a side of meticulously researched information.