No questions about the Porsche.
No chance of Eli seeing another threatening note.
But I also knew that allowing some anonymous vandal to dictate whether my son could visit his father would create a different kind of fear.
I took a breath.
“Can we talk with him together and explain what's happening in a way he can handle?”
Hannah considered that.
Then answered.
“Yeah.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thank you.”
She hesitated.
“Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't do anything reckless.”
I almost laughed.
“You sound like my mother.”
She smiled.
“Somebody has to.”
When the call ended, I looked toward the security monitor.
The driveway appeared quiet.
The silver Porsche reflected the porch lights.
Then I made a decision.
I wasn't going to turn the house into a fortress.
But I was going to eliminate the blind spots.
I contacted a licensed security installer.
Added two cameras.
Improved the side-yard lighting.
And installed a monitored alarm system that allowed me to request emergency assistance quickly if a threat developed.
The equipment was professionally configured.
It wasn't a trap.
It wasn't designed to confront anyone.
It was designed to preserve evidence and help me avoid a physical encounter if the people threatening me returned.
I also placed a small camera inside the garage.
Then tested the recording system.
Everything worked.
For the next ten days, I documented the ordinary activity around the house.
Deliveries.
Visitors.
Unknown vehicles.
HOA correspondence.
And any unusual attempt to approach the Porsche.
I kept the car exactly where it belonged.
The tires were replaced.
The damage was repaired.
And the silver paint gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
Sandra drove past twice.
Each time, she slowed.
Each time, I made a note.
Then came Thursday.
At 2:14 in the afternoon, my phone vibrated.
Motion detected: driveway.
I opened the camera feed.
Three men were stepping from a white utility truck.
Black uniforms.
Tactical-style vests.
A yellow wheel clamp.
And a steel towing hook.
Behind them walked Sandra Holt.
She wore an immaculate white pantsuit and carried her black compliance folder.
The men approached my Porsche without knocking.
One knelt beside the front wheel.
Another began examining the bumper.
The third pointed toward my garage.
Sandra smiled.
Then raised a document as though she were delivering a court order.
I watched for two seconds.