"Tom," I said, "I need to report a theft."
Tom Caldwell and I had known each other for nine years. We'd worked together on a federal task force operation in 2016, a multi-county fugitive sweep that required the kind of interagency coordination that either builds friendships or destroys them, and in our case had built the former. Caldwell was 51, career law enforcement, the kind of sheriff who still answered calls on his personal cell because he believed the job didn't have office hours.
"Tell me what happened," Caldwell said.
I told him: factual, sequential, the way I'd written 200 case narratives for the Marshals Service. The trespassing, the vandalism, the tire deflation, the road blockage, the HOA letters with no jurisdiction, and then the theft—a $45,000 tractor driven off my property and chained to a bollard on HOA land under a laminated sign that said "seized."
"Seized?" Caldwell repeated.
"Seized," I confirmed. "They laminated the sign."
"They laminated it."
"Pre-printed, color ink. They planned this, Tom."
Caldwell was quiet for a moment. "Jake, I need to ask you something, and I already know the answer, but I'm asking for the file: Did you give anyone permission to move that tractor?"
"No."