"You're sure?" Ramon asked.
Chris didn't even look up. "I'm certain."
I exhaled slowly. "So we're looking for someone local, probably ex-military or private security."
"Maybe both," Chris replied. "And because Linda's all about image, she's not the type to hang out with random street punks. She'd find someone she thinks is strong, professional."
Tyler snorted. "Professional? He tagged your house with spray paint! Professionally angry, maybe."
"Don't joke about this," Tyler snapped at himself, or maybe the situation. Chris shut up instantly.
We all fell silent for a few seconds, listening to the hum of the damaged AC unit sputtering its last breath.
Finally, Ramon spoke: "She's escalating too fast. That means she's triggered. Something about last night set her off. The 911 call humiliated her. Having Sergeant Miller correct her humiliated her even more. And posting that Facebook smear campaign probably gave her a rush of control—and control is her whole personality."
Tyler muttered, "Exactly."
"But here's the key," Ramon continued. "She didn't expect the police to recognize you. She didn't expect her story to fall apart. So she had to regain ground. How? By filing those violations immediately. By turning the neighborhood against you. And now..." He gestured at the ruined AC unit. "...by pushing the conflict from reputation damage to physical intimidation."
"It was meant to scare me," I said.
"It was meant to scare you into leaving," Ramon corrected, "or reacting. Something she can use."
Chris stood. "And whoever did this, he's not random. Someone hired or encouraged him. Someone who hates cops. Someone with a connection to Ethan Carver."
My stomach twisted. "Donny Hughes."
The name came out before I even realized I'd said it.
Chris blinked. "Who's that?"
"In Ethan's arrest record," I recalled. "He had an associate arrested with him. Served three years. Released early for cooperation."
"And what happened to him afterward?" Ramon asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I remember Ethan yelling in court that Donny betrayed him. Maybe Donny blames me, too. Maybe he blames everyone."
Tyler cracked his neck. "Where does he live?"
"We'll check," Chris said, already typing furiously on his laptop. "Give me ten minutes."
I couldn't shake the feeling. The eyes I saw when the vandal turned... they weren't unfamiliar. They had that same furious, wounded look Ethan had in the courtroom. If Ethan had a friend still carrying that torch of resentment, it made sense. Too much sense.
As Chris worked, I stepped away from the group, pacing the yard and staring at the damage. Cold autumn air wrapped around me like a warning. Somewhere a dog barked. A car door slammed across the street. Normal sounds, but they all felt different now. My home no longer felt like a sanctuary; it felt like a battlefield.
Tyler approached slowly. "You all right?"
"No," I answered honestly. "Not even close."
"We've got your back. You know that."
"I do," I said. "But this isn't about proving myself innocent anymore. This is about stopping whatever she's trying to build."
"She's unraveling," Tyler replied. "People like her don't think straight when they're losing control."
"She's not just losing control," I murmured, staring at the word on my wall. "She's trying to take mine."
Before Tyler could respond, Chris called out from the porch: "Got something!"
We hurried over, circling around him as he turned the laptop: photos, social media posts, employment records. At the center of the screen: Donny Hughes, Age 34. Occupation: Private Security Officer, Iron Watch Security Services.
Scrolling down revealed public Instagram posts: shirtless gym selfies, tactical gear, rants about missing friends, and a photo of Ethan Carver captioned, "Some things never get justice. Rest easy, brother." Another post: "I don't forget the ones responsible. Not ever." And then the most telling one of all: a selfie taken at a gun range, captioned, "Keeping skills sharp. Can't trust anyone but yourself these days."
Tyler exhaled through his nose. "That's our guy."
Ramon nodded. "It fits: boot size, tactical background, motive. But we need direct evidence linking him to Linda."
"And to the attack tonight," I added.
"We'll get it," Chris said confidently. "But we need a plan that's airtight. Something that exposes both of them."
Tyler cracked his knuckles again. "Or we just handle this the old-fashioned way."
"No," I said firmly. "No intimidation. No confrontation. That's what she wants. She wants a reaction."
Ramon confirmed, "Something she can twist into a threat or an attack. Something to weaponize."
"So what do we do?" Tyler asked.
I inhaled deeply, letting the night air burn my lungs before speaking. "We flip the script," I said. "We stop reacting. We gather evidence. And we prove beyond any doubt that she's behind everything."
"And how do you want to do that?" Chris asked.
I turned toward the house—toward the shattered AC unit, the graffiti, the violated sense of safety crawling under my skin.