My name’s Gregory Watson. I’m in my early 50s and have lived in the same quiet neighborhood for over 20 years. After losing
my wife eight years ago, it’s been just me and my grandson, Harry—though he’s away at college most of the time. Life was
peaceful, predictable… until Jack moved in next door. From the start, Jack rubbed me the wrong way—cocky attitude,
dismissive tone, and a complete disregard for boundaries. The problem began when he and his grown son, Drew, started
parking in my designated spot. I need that space—chronic leg pain makes walking from farther away nearly impossible.
I asked him politely to stop multiple times. He just smirked and ignored me. Then one morning, I woke up to find my
car completely wrapped in tape—bumper to bumper. I was furious. It was clearly a petty act of revenge. But instead of
lashing out, I got creative. With the help of my young neighbors, Noah and Kris—two kind-hearted teens who live nearby—we
came up with a plan.
