"I wish the first report had been enough. Or the video of her taking the headphones. Or the questions at the board meeting."
My wife took a sip of water.
"But they weren't."
"No."
I thought about the treasurer.
The delivery driver.
The neighbors who'd shared their records.
And the investigator who'd followed the evidence into the storage facility.
"The purple dye got everybody's attention," I said. "But the people who kept asking questions are the reason the truth came out."
My wife smiled.
"That's a better way to remember it."
I looked toward the front door.
"Yeah."
Then I laughed softly.
"Although I have to admit, the blue blazer turning purple was pretty memorable."
She burst out laughing.
"Memorable? I've never seen anything like it."
I smiled.
"Neither had she."
For several seconds, we laughed together.
Then my wife leaned against my shoulder.
And we watched the quiet street.
A few weeks later, my sister came to visit.
She hadn't been able to travel during most of the dispute, but she'd followed the story through our calls and messages. She arrived carrying a large bag of groceries and immediately demanded to see the infamous front porch.
I laughed.
"It's just a porch."
She pointed toward the security camera.
"That's the camera?"
I nodded.
She looked at it.
Then toward the driveway.
"Where did she throw the box?"
I showed her.
My sister stared at the concrete.
Then she began laughing.
"I cannot believe you were standing out here in a bath towel."
I shook my head.
"That's the part everybody remembers."
She laughed harder.
My wife appeared in the doorway.
"Because he looked like he'd escaped from his own shower to investigate a robbery."
I sighed.
"Very funny."
Our son came running outside.
"Dad was purple too!"
I looked at him.
"Only a little."
He grinned.
"Your towel had spots."
My sister nearly dropped her grocery bag.
I shook my head.
"This family is never going to let me forget that."
My wife smiled.
"Absolutely not."
Later, after dinner, my sister and I sat at the kitchen table.
She noticed the framed note from our mother beside the window.
Keep building toward home.
Her expression softened.
"I haven't looked at that in a while."
I nodded.
She moved closer.
For several seconds, we stared at the handwriting.
Then she said, "Mom would have loved this place."
I smiled.
"Yeah."
My sister looked toward the living room, where our son was showing my wife his latest model car.
"She would've loved seeing him grow up here."
I felt my throat tighten.
"Definitely."
She sat beside me.
Then she looked toward the porch.
"Do you think she'd be proud of how you handled everything?"