Chapter 2

My fingers went numb as I typed. Then my phone vibrated.

Clark had sent me a private message.

"Mr. Foster, I'm doing this for your own good. Public pressure is forcing you to make improvements and helping you avoid even bigger risks. You should be thanking me."

I didn't reply. Instead, I messaged a lawyer friend, Colin Hamilton.

"Can you look into what permits are required when someone installs a charging station in a privately owned parking space and supplies electricity to others at cost?"

When I returned to my parking space that evening, there was a new yellow warning sign beside the charging station.

"DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE. UNAUTHORIZED ELECTRICITY SUPPLY PROHIBITED."

Clark stood beside it, pointing at the cable running through my parking space. "Nathan, outside vehicles won't be allowed to park here anymore. This parking area is part of the community's shared fire evacuation route. This is a deeded parking space that I own."

I kept my temper in check. "My property deed makes that perfectly clear, and property management also approved the installation."

"Rules can change." Clark pointed toward the commercial charging station outside the neighborhood. "Electricity there costs 40 cents per kilowatt-hour. They're fully licensed and operating legally. People shouldn't always be looking for loopholes."

I backed my car out of the space and parked in the temporary lot downstairs.

Fine. So he wanted to talk about rules?

Then we'd go through every single one.

Early the next morning, Clark created a new group chat called the "Cedar Ridge Charging Safety Oversight Committee."

He made himself the group owner and appointed several busybody neighborhood grandmothers as administrators. Somehow, I—the owner of the charging stations—was the one who got kicked out.

Fortunately, I still had my work account in the group.

Pinned to the top of the chat was a document titled "Rectification Recommendations for Standardizing Neighborhood Charging Services."

It listed more than a dozen requirements:

Before every charging session, I had to disclose the vehicle's battery health, tire pressure, and the owner's blood pressure.

All charging data had to be connected to a shared spreadsheet in the group and made publicly available in real time.

Every vehicle had to carry at least $750,000 in accident insurance, with all the neighbors listed as beneficiaries.

I would be responsible for battery degradation, towing fees, lost wages, emotional distress, and any other related losses.

I stared at the screen and laughed coldly.

I was simply splitting the electricity costs with my neighbors for free. I wasn't running an insurance company.

When I went downstairs, everyone was crowded around the charging area entrance. Not a single person was plugging in their car.

Clark stood in front of the main breaker, holding a printed form. "Mr. Foster, everyone agrees that, for safety reasons, you need to complete this daily electricity supply inspection form."

I looked him in the eye. "And what happens if I don't?"

Clark shrugged. "Then people won't feel safe using your chargers. After all, it's their cars and their lives."

Danielle used to call me a saint every day. Now, all I saw in her eyes was suspicion.

"Nathan, just fill it out, okay?" She handed me a pen. "Mr. Reeves is only looking out for everyone's safety. There's nothing wrong with doing things properly."

Kevin chimed in. "Exactly, Nathan. It's just one form."

I took the pen, filled out every section, and signed at the bottom.

I wanted to see just how many more things these people could accuse a charging station of.

I switched the main breaker back on, and the first car plugged in.

Less than ten minutes later, the thermometer in Clark's hand started beeping.

"Everyone, look! The charging connector's temperature has risen to 113 degrees! If thermal runaway happens in an enclosed parking garage, the entire building could explode!"

An older man in the back clutched his chest. "Oh, I knew I was feeling a little short of breath earlier! Could it be radiation from the battery?"

"Nathan, can you lower the charging current?"

"There are too many cars packed together. This really is dangerous."

One after another, the car owners unplugged their vehicles.

I stared at the thermometer.

It was a good foot and a half away from the charging connector, and its sensor was still covered in a layer of plastic film.

By noon, Clark was still sitting on a plastic chair beside me.

"If the hardware is this unstable, you should be paying us a high-temperature compensation allowance and a battery risk fee, Mr. Foster. After all, we're the ones helping you test your equipment. That only makes sense!"