Brenda attended.
She sat in the back.
Took notes.
Said nothing.
Six months after Derek's arrest, a federal prosecutor contacted Marcus about testimony regarding the camera damage.
He appeared briefly.
Facts only.
Consent agreement.
Location.
Date.
Brenda's destruction.
No dramatic courtroom reversal.
Derek eventually pleaded guilty to several charges.
Others in the network did too.
The crimes had caused millions in losses.
Marcus's little section of video became one piece among hundreds.
That humbled him.
Stories often made people believe one hero, one witness, one camera solved everything.
Reality was less satisfying.
Investigations were mosaics.
Tiny pieces.
Receipts.
Vehicle logs.
Phone records.
Witnesses.
Warehouse footage.
Financial records.
Camera angles.
Marcus's house was one tile.
Brenda's hammer was another.
Derek's mistakes mattered more than either.
One evening Andre came over for dinner.
They sat on the patio.
Andre looked toward the new camera.
“Federal?”
“No.”
“CIA?”
“No.”
“NSA?”
“No.”
“Secret alien task force?”
Marcus stared.
“Home improvement store.”
Andre looked disappointed.
They ate.
After a while Andre said:
“You know what still bothers me?”
“What?”
“If Brenda hadn't smashed it, would they have caught Derek?”
Marcus thought.
“Probably.”
“So her stupidity helped?”
“Indirectly.”
Andre grinned.
“You should tell her.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She'll put it on a campaign flyer.”
Marcus laughed.
They sat beneath the evening sky.
A delivery van passed.
Normal.
No agents.
No investigation.
Marcus found himself watching vehicles anyway.
He disliked that.
Hyper-awareness was another cost nobody reimbursed.
For months, any unfamiliar van made him wonder.
Any contractor.
Any person parked too long.
He recognized the pattern professionally.
Once you understood a system could be compromised, trust stopped being automatic.
Recovery required deliberate effort.
So Marcus practiced normalcy.
He stopped checking cameras every hour.
Stopped watching every delivery.
Stopped researching every contractor truck.
Security without obsession.
That balance mattered.
The new camera remained.
Not because he feared criminals.
Because package thieves remained package thieves.
Life contained ordinary problems too.
A year after the hammer incident, Briar Ridge held its summer block party.
Marcus almost skipped.
Andre forced him.
“You need people.”
“I have people.”
“You have clients.”
“Different.”
“You have me.”
“That argues against your position.”
Andre arrived anyway.
The block party filled the central lawn.
Food trucks.
Music.
Children.
Folding chairs.
Brenda helped at the lemonade table.
Not in pink.
Yellow.
Marcus noticed.
She caught him staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She looked down.
“Oh.”
Marcus smiled.
“Growth.”
“Don't start.”
They laughed.
A new family approached Marcus.
Young couple.