Marcus was forty-one, a meticulous investigator with a background in public administration and financial crimes. He worked as a senior analyst for the state inspector general's police oversight division and had collaborated with Talia for several years.
The folder concerned complaints from several municipalities participating in the Residential Visibility and Access Improvement Initiative.
The program was supposed to help local governments identify genuine sightline hazards, obstructed sidewalks, and other conditions that created public safety concerns.
Certain projects could qualify for state funding when properly documented.
The concept was straightforward.
But the complaints suggested that some municipalities were issuing notices without reliable inspections.
Residents described receiving letters for plants that didn't obstruct anything.
Several were pressured to pay a particular private contractor.
And in at least two cases, police officers appeared at the properties when homeowners disputed the work.
Talia had opened the folder and examined the summaries.
The number of similar incidents troubled her.
She asked Marcus whether the state funds had been reviewed.
He explained that a financial team was examining the reimbursements and vendor arrangements.
Then he mentioned a company.
Greenway Civic Maintenance.
Talia remembered the name.
She'd seen it in several municipal records during unrelated oversight work.
At the time, she didn't connect the contractor to her mother's property.
The complaints involved other neighborhoods and different cities.
She authorized further preliminary review.
Then continued preparing for a meeting.
Now she stood beside Lorraine's ruined rose garden, holding a broken flower while a police sergeant struggled to explain why a complaint had been filed under a dead woman's name.
And the connection became impossible to ignore.
That afternoon, Talia returned inside the house after her medical examination.
The preliminary assessment found bruising and shoulder discomfort that required follow-up care but no immediate severe injury. She documented the symptoms and followed the medical guidance.
Margaret came over carrying soup.
Daniel brought photographs of the garden before the damage.
And another neighbor, a retired surveyor named Samuel Ortiz, offered to help locate the property's historical boundary records.
Talia thanked them.
She didn't want the incident to become a neighborhood spectacle.
But she appreciated the support.
For several hours, the house filled with familiar voices.
People who remembered Lorraine.
People who'd watched Talia grow up.
And people who were now worried about what had happened in a yard that had always been a peaceful part of Willow Street.
When the neighbors finally left, Talia stood alone in the living room.
She looked toward the window.
Several rosebushes were crushed.
Broken stems lay across the soil.
And the white fence appeared strangely empty where the largest blooms had stood that morning.
She remembered her mother's favorite saying.
You don't need permission to grow where you've been planted.