Chapter 26

Most middle-class neighborhoods came with a solid Service Company infrastructure. Cleaning crews, security, even a small community clinic with doctors on call, the kind of setup that could cover nearly every daily need a resident might have.

None of it came cheap. Every quarter, the people living here paid a considerable sum to keep that level of service running. Still, they paid willingly. What they bought wasn’t just convenience, it was something the lower strata rarely touched, a sense of dignity, of being respectable.

William had just turned off the main road and into the neighborhood entrance when the guard at the booth stepped out and stopped him. “Private property. You can’t go in.”

Dusk had already settled in. At first, the guard hadn’t taken much notice of what William was wearing. Only when he got closer did he realize, electrician. The uniform fit the part.

In most middle-class communities, they kept their own electrician. His salary didn’t come from the Service Company, but was split among the homeowners, with an additional management fee paid over to the company itself.

The arrangement had its advantages. If a household’s wiring failed, the electrician would show up fast and fix it. Efficient. Local. Controlled. But it also bred friction, particularly with the Power Company.

Work that should have belonged to the Power Company was being quietly absorbed. They weren’t going to ignore that. So they found another angle, aging circuits and mandatory inspections.

The Service Company refused to recognize those demands. The Power Company, in turn, leaned on the residents. Phone calls, mostly. Quiet threats dressed as concern. Your wiring is deteriorating. A house in another community refused inspection, ended in a fire. Several people met God that night.