“We're still verifying it, but some of the emails suggest Patricia obtained private information about you that she had no legitimate reason to possess.”
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
“What kind of information?”
“Your travel schedule.”
Marcus went still.
His attorney continued.
“Your work schedule. Your sister's visits. When contractors came to the property. Even some information about your financial situation.”
Marcus stared at the camera.
Then he remembered something.
The day of the Maybach incident.
Patricia had known his flight time.
She had known he would be leaving soon.
At the time, Marcus had assumed she was bluffing.
But she had been too specific.
His flight leaves in forty minutes.
He remembered saying it.
He had said it because he wanted to unsettle her.
But how had she known he was leaving?
Marcus's voice dropped.
“She knew about my flight.”
“What?”
“She knew I was traveling that day.”
His attorney was silent.
Marcus walked to the workbench.
His laptop was still open.
He pulled up the camera archive.
He searched the morning of the incident.
There was Patricia.
Standing across the street.
Talking to someone.
Marcus zoomed in.
The image sharpened.
The person beside her wasn't another homeowner.
It was a man Marcus recognized.
Crestline Development Group.
He had seen him at the county planning meeting.
Marcus stared at the screen.
His attorney said, “Marcus?”
“I'm looking at something.”
“What?”
“Patricia wasn't alone.”
Marcus took a screenshot.
“I'm sending this to you.”
A few seconds later, his attorney's phone received the image.
Silence.
Then:
“That changes things.”
“How?”
“Because now we can show coordination.”
Marcus leaned against the workbench.
For the first time since the Maybach incident, he felt something other than anger.
He felt clarity.
The entire neighborhood had been watching Patricia fight Marcus over rules.
But the real fight had been happening somewhere else.
Behind closed doors.
Inside emails.
In private meetings.
On development maps.
And Marcus had been standing directly on top of the piece of land they needed.
That afternoon, Marcus attended a county planning meeting.
He did not announce that he was coming.
He did not tell Patricia.
He simply walked into the municipal building wearing dark jeans, a clean white shirt, and a charcoal jacket.
The room was nearly full.
Developers sat along one side.
Residents sat on the other.
At the front, a large screen displayed the Crestline proposal.
Marcus took a seat near the back.
Five minutes later, Patricia entered.
She froze when she saw him.
Marcus didn't react.
She whispered something to the man beside her.
The man looked back.
Their eyes met.
Marcus smiled politely.
The meeting began.
A county planner stood at the microphone and described the project.
Economic development.
New housing.
Traffic improvements.
Employment opportunities.
Community investment.
Marcus listened.
Then the map appeared.
There it was.
The road.
The access point.
The eastern corridor.
And the tiny strip of land that belonged to him.
Marcus leaned back.
The developer finished the presentation.
Then the public comment period began.
One by one, residents approached the microphone.