Process server confirmed, legal reviewed everything, bulletproof. Sloan. Crew ready, front page material. Gregory. Meeting posted, 42 RSVPs, three times normal.
I look at Miranda's photo on the workbench, her Colorado smile frozen in time. Tomorrow we finish this. The garage air is thick with chrome polish and paint thinner, that chemical sweet smell that means restoration work is nearly done. My hands are steady. Plan is airtight.
Deandra Callaway is about to discover that some people don't stay quiet when you push them. Some people know exactly how to push back and they've spent 22 years learning how to do it legally, methodically, and permanently. Days 46 through 48. Deandra's desperation is showing and desperate people get sloppy. 11:00 p.m., day 46.
Fake Facebook profile pops up. Concerned Pine Haven resident. Post says I have federal firearms charges and I'm dangerous to children. Complete lie. My record's spotless, but it gets 43 shares before Facebook kills it 12 hours later.
Damage done. My phone explodes with concerned texts. One neighbor with kids crosses the street when she sees me collecting mail. That sting sits heavy in my chest. I screenshot everything, file a police report.
Detective Alicia Brennan from cybercrimes traces the IP in 30 minutes. Three doors from Deandra's house. Either Jackson on his phone or Deandra using his Wi-Fi. Sloppy either way. Day 47 evening.
I'm grilling chicken when footsteps hit my front walk. Deandra's on my doorstep holding a store-bought pie in plastic, that artificial apple smell mixing with perfume so heavy it could stop a clock. Garrett, we should talk, neighbor to neighbor. The smile doesn't reach her eyes. I let her in but don't offer a seat.
She sets the pie down like we're having a pleasant chat. Look, we started badly. What if I waived all your fines? Clean slate. In exchange for?
Drop your legal plans. Vote with me Saturday to strengthen board authority. You've got federal credentials. People respect that. I need someone credible when the auditors come.
There it is. She knows about the audit demand Marcus filed quietly last week. Auditors? I keep my face blank. Problem with the books?
She recovers fast. Just standard procedures. Do we have a deal? I'll think about it. She leaves frustrated, fake smile evaporating before she reaches her Audi.
The pie stays untouched. I'm not eating anything that woman brought into my house. For all I know, she laced it with her particular brand of crazy. I call Marcus. She knows about the audit.
Public record, but someone tipped her. Friend in the clerk's office, maybe. New variable. She's more connected than I thought. Time to move faster.
11:30 p.m., day 48. Security alert, back door. Camera shows Jackson with a crowbar trying to jimmy the lock. Not even wearing gloves. I dial 911, then speak loud through the door.