"Okay to park here?" he called.
I laughed and said, "If you're here for me, you're good."
That was the point. My driveway was not some sacred place. I was not unreasonable. Customers parked there. Friends parked there. Tow trucks parked there. People who asked, people who respected the work, people who understood the difference between permission and entitlement, they were welcome.
The problem was never the Porsche.
The problem was the belief behind it.
The belief that my space could be used without asking. That my warnings could be mocked. That my time, labor, and property mattered less because someone else wanted convenience. That if I objected, I would be painted as difficult while they walked away clean.
But they did not walk away clean.
The son wanted a parking spot and a laugh. His mother wanted control. They both got a lesson in evidence.
Sometimes payback does not need shouting. It does not need threats. It does not need revenge.
Sometimes all it needs is a camera, a warning sign, a legal tow, and the patience to let arrogant people expose themselves.
I still work on cars in that garage. I still keep tools close to the door. The driveway still gets busy. Customers still call at odd hours, and engines still arrive sounding like they are begging for help.
But now, when I see that warning sign near the edge of the concrete, I do not think about the Porsche first. I think about the elderly neighbor who finally got her money back. I think about the people who came forward once they realized they had not been the only ones. I think about the moment that black box hit the driveway and turned a spoiled man's game into the truth he had been trying to hide.
He told me to call someone who cared.
So I did.
And when the right people showed up, his own car did all the talking.