Then closed it.
He thought the story might end there.
It did not.
Two months later, Dana returned.
No SUVs.
Just her personal car.
Marcus opened the door wearing normal clothes.
She looked disappointed.
“No face mask?”
“Never again.”
“You looked radiant.”
“Leave.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“We closed the camera-location portion of the operation.”
“Meaning?”
“You can remove remaining hardware.”
Marcus nodded.
“Derek?”
“Pending trial.”
“The group?”
“Several arrests.”
“Some charges still developing.”
Marcus leaned against the doorway.
“Anything I need to know?”
“Yes.”
She handed him a small envelope.
Inside was a reimbursement form.
Marcus stared.
“For siding repair?”
“And broken mounting hardware.”
He laughed.
“This is the most federal ending possible.”
“Paperwork.”
“Exactly.”
Dana smiled.
Then:
“There's something else.”
Marcus waited.
“Brenda's actions did cause a significant interruption.”
“Okay.”
“But we reviewed all recovered material.”
“No evidence she knowingly assisted the criminal network.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
Dana studied him.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“She drove me insane.”
“That doesn't make her a criminal conspirator.”
Dana smiled faintly.
“Occupationally precise.”
“Cybersecurity.”
They stood quietly.
Then Marcus asked:
“Did Derek target my camera specifically?”
“Yes.”
He felt cold despite expecting the answer.
“How?”
“Through anonymous complaints and conversations with Brenda.”
“Did he tell her to smash it?”
“No evidence.”
“He suggested the camera violated privacy.”
“He repeatedly asked whether the HOA planned to enforce removal.”
“Why mine?”
“Angle.”
Marcus looked toward the street.
His house sat at a bend.
The camera saw vehicles entering from both directions.
Perfect.
Dana continued:
“Your refusal to move it became a problem for him.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“So my stubbornness helped.”
“Don't become unbearable.”
“Too late.”
Dana left.
Marcus repaired the siding himself.
Not because reimbursement was insufficient.
Because holes annoyed him.
He climbed the ladder.
For a moment, halfway up, he looked down at the grass where Brenda had stood holding the hammer.
Absurd morning.
He installed a normal residential camera.
His own this time.
Smaller.
Clearly aimed at his driveway.
Then climbed down.
Two days later, Brenda knocked.
Marcus checked the new camera first.
She noticed when he opened the door.
Her eyes moved toward it.
Marcus said:
“Don't.”
A reluctant smile appeared.
“I'm not carrying a hammer.”
She held both hands up.
Nothing.
Marcus stepped onto the porch.
“What do you need?”
“To apologize.”
He waited.
Brenda looked uncomfortable.
Good apologies often did.
She continued:
“I've spent two months writing versions in my head.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
She almost smiled.
“I kept explaining myself.”
“Privacy concerns.”
“Derek.”
“The board.”
“My responsibility.”