“Don't confuse thinking you're right with documenting why.”
I laughed.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Priya smiled briefly.
Then became serious.
“Challenge the fines through the required process. Preserve your evidence. And if anyone attempts to remove the vehicle without proper authority, contact local law enforcement rather than turning it into a physical confrontation.”
I nodded.
“Understood.”
I wish that had been the end.
But Sandra had already decided I was making her look weak.
And she wasn't the kind of person who responded well to public embarrassment.
The next Tuesday, I discovered her white SUV parked across from my house.
She was sitting behind the wheel, speaking on her phone.
When she noticed me, she looked away.
I didn't approach.
I simply noted the time.
The following day, I saw the same vehicle again.
Then a dark pickup slowed near the driveway.
The driver appeared to photograph my Porsche.
I recorded the incidents.
But I didn't assume every car on the street was part of a conspiracy.
Neighbors had visitors.
Delivery drivers got lost.
And unfamiliar vehicles sometimes passed through quiet communities for ordinary reasons.
Then, on a Thursday morning, something happened that could not be dismissed.
I walked outside at six-fifteen to leave for work.
The Porsche was sitting in the driveway.
All four tires were flat.
At first, I thought it was some bizarre coincidence.
Then I crouched beside the front wheel.
The damage was deliberate.
My stomach tightened.
I moved around the car.
Each tire had been cut.
Then I noticed a folded sheet of paper beneath the windshield wiper.
Across it, in thick black letters, were five words.
NEXT TIME WE TAKE IT.
For several seconds, I stood without moving.
I wasn't frightened by the threat in the way its author probably intended.
I was furious.
Because someone had walked onto my property during the night, damaged a car connected to my father, and left a message promising to return.
I took photographs.
Called the sheriff's nonemergency number.
Filed a report.
Then contacted my insurance company and arranged for the car to be inspected.
The damage was expensive.
But the money wasn't what bothered me.
Eli was supposed to spend the weekend with me.
He loved that car.
And somebody had decided our home was an acceptable place to deliver threats.
When the responding deputy arrived, I showed him everything.