Sheriff, I repeated as if maybe I'd misheard her. Yes. 15 years in law enforcement. 10 of those in the sheriff's office, elected last year. She paused, letting it sink in.
I didn't tell you because I wanted us to have a normal life here. But after tonight, normal is gone. The kettle started to whistle softly. I barely noticed. I thought you were in private security, I said, still trying to wrap my head around it.
That's what I let people think, she said. When you hold this position, you make enemies. Not just the kind you can see, but people with real resources and real grudges. Sometimes it's safer for you, for me if they don't know where I live. I leaned back against the wall, feeling the weight of her words.
So, Greg, Greg is a dangerous man, she cut in. He's not just a nosy neighbor with a fake badge. He's impersonating law enforcement, and that's a felony. The stunt tonight, armed trespass. If I had wanted to, I could have had all four of them face down on the lawn and zip ties before the power came back on.
She said it matter-of-factly, not as a boast. Why didn't you? I asked. Because I wanted to see what he'd do next. Now I know he's willing to escalate.
And that means he'll make a mistake. One I can use. She poured hot water into two mugs, slid one toward me, then reached into her jacket pocket. From it, she pulled a small digital recorder. I had this running the whole time.
She said every word he said tonight is on here. It hit me then. She'd been planning for this, or at least prepared for it, long before Greg showed up. What's his deal, Sarah? What's he really after?
She leaned back, mug in hand. I don't know yet, but people like him don't pull stunts like this just because they don't like a fence. There's something bigger in play. And now, she gave a small, dangerous smile. Now he's my case.
For the first time all night, I felt a flicker of something that wasn't fear. It was the realization that the man trying to intimidate us had no idea who he'd chosen to mess with. Sarah took a sip of tea, then set the mug down. Tomorrow, I start digging. Greg Morrison's about to wish he'd never heard my name.
Sarah didn't waste a second the next morning. By the time I came downstairs, she was already at the dining room table with her laptop open, a notepad beside it, and that same look she used to get when she was planning a major operation. Her coffee sat untouched. She was too focused to drink it. Morning, I said, still groggy.
You start early. She glanced up. Greg Morrison doesn't exist. Not here. Not in the county's personnel records.
Not in the state. That woke me up faster than caffeine. What do you mean he doesn't exist? I mean, he's not a sworn officer anywhere in California. He's not even a registered security guard here.
She tapped the laptop screen where a state licensing database showed a blank search result. I moved closer. So, who is he? That's what I'm finding out. Sarah pulled up another window, a law-enforcement-only database she had access to as sheriff.
We run background checks on new hires. I'm running one on him now. The tricky part is figuring out his real name. It didn't take her long. A quick search on property records revealed the deed for Greg's house was in the name of Gregory Mitchell, not Morrison.
When she entered that into her system, the hits came fast. Three prior arrests, she read aloud. Two in Arizona for impersonating a police officer. One in Nevada for harassment. Fired from at least three private security companies for abuse of authority.
Civil lawsuits in both states. intimidation, false incident reports, stalking. I stared at the screen. And now he's here in our neighborhood. She nodded slowly.
He's been moving state to state for years. Starts out friendly, builds trust, then uses that trust to gain influence. In some cases, he's taken over the HOA entirely. My stomach sank. This isn't about the fence.
No, she said, her voice hardening. This is about control. and my guess money. She switched to another tab, pulling up a database of corporate filings. He's connected to at least two shell companies registered in Nevada.
Both list the same mailing address is a man named Victor Hail. Who's that? I asked. Sarah's eyes narrowed. Real estate investor used to be under investigation for property scams involving military families.
He'd identify homeowners under financial stress, push them to sell below market value, then flip the property for a profit. And you think Greg's working for him? I think Greg's doing the dirty work. Intimidation, manufacturing violations, turning neighbors against each other so Hail can swoop in and rescue people from their so-called problem homes. She leaned back in her chair.
Which means we're not just dealing with a fake cop. We're dealing with an organized scheme. I rubbed my temples. So, what now? Now, she said, we gather evidence.
Everything Greg does from here on out goes on record. She showed me a small black device, a professional-grade surveillance camera, no bigger than a deck of cards. I'm installing three of these today. Two outside, one inside near the front door. They're motion activated, night vision, audio capable.
You had these lying around?" I asked. She gave me a look that said, "You already know the answer." By midafternoon, the cameras were in place. One was cleverly tucked into the branches of our front yard maple tree, aimed at the street. Another was hidden under the eaves above the garage. The third was inside, positioned to capture anyone standing at the door.
That evening, Sarah sat me down. Here's the plan. We let Greg think he's winning. We don't react to the little stunts. But when he overreaches, and he will, we'll have him on tape." Her voice was calm, but there was something else under it. Determination and maybe just a hint of anticipation.