And then my daughter Mariah called, voice shaking. "Dad, I got a text from a blocked number. It says if you don't drop the lawsuit, they'll file a complaint with the state veterinary board claiming I falsified my licensing credentials. Dad, I didn't! I worked so hard for that license!"
I told her to screenshot everything and send it to me.
Then I called Luz. She listened, silent as I forwarded the messages. When I finished, her voice was cold as January steel. "Cole, that's witness intimidation: federal felony. Screenshot everything and file a police report immediately. This is the kind of mistake that ends careers."
I drove to the sheriff's office. Detective Ramirez, competent guy about my age, took my statement, looked at the messages. "This is serious, Mr. Brennan. Threatening professional licenses to influence a lawsuit... we'll open an investigation. I'll need to interview your daughter."
He did. Mariah confirmed the hang-up calls, the threatening text. Ramirez got a warrant for phone records, started tracing the number.
Meanwhile, I went silent: no interviews, no social media, no public statements. Let them think they'd rattled me. But quietly, behind the scenes, I was tightening the noose: Darnell prepared Clearwater's final termination notice, ready to send the second we hit Day 31; Luz filed a motion to expedite discovery, citing the intimidation attempts; the judge granted it—we'd have access to HOA emails and board minutes within two weeks instead of two months.
Tommy documented three new leaks in the pipeline after a moderate rain, exactly as he'd predicted: water pooling in my pasture, muddy and chemical-smelling.
And I pulled every public record I could find on Veronica personally: property records, court filings, tax liens. Turned out she'd been sued twice for breach of contract in real estate deals, settled both times. Her business partner from five years ago had filed a complaint with the state real estate commission alleging fraud—dismissed for lack of evidence, but the complaint was public record. Pattern of behavior. Luz loved it.
Late one night, 2:00 a.m., I was still working. Shauna came downstairs, found me surrounded by paper. "You're obsessing."
I looked up. "I'm finishing what she started."
Shauna poured herself a glass of water from the tap—clean water from our bypass system. "Then finish it fast. I want my husband back."