“What’s that?” Dre asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Nothing important.”
But Otis’ eyes scanned the tree line with practiced efficiency.
Shirley brought them water around midday, her face tight with frustration.
“Legal aid is backed up for weeks,” she reported.
“And the police?”
“They’re looking into it.”
The sarcasm in her voice was sharp enough to cut.
“They ain’t going to do nothing,” Dre said bitterly, accepting the water. “Same as always.”
“They’ll do something when we have enough evidence,” Otis said quietly.
He pulled out his phone and showed them the morning’s photographs.
“Everything documented. Timestamped.”
He pointed toward the markers near the damaged sections.
“And those are survey stakes. They establish exactly where our property line is.”
The day wore on, hot and heavy.
By sunset, they had replaced most of the damaged sections.
Otis insisted on finishing the work himself as darkness approached, sending Dre home despite his protests.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Dre said before leaving. “Let me stay. Help keep watch.”
“Best help you can give is staying clear.”
Otis looked at him steadily.
“Trust me on this.”
Inside the farmhouse, Shirley paced the kitchen.
“They’re escalating,” she said, watching headlights pass on the distant road. “Each attack gets bolder.”
Otis nodded, checking the security feeds on his tablet.
“Got movement on the back forty.”
Shirley came closer.
“Three vehicles,” Otis continued. “Lights off. Coming in from the south access road.”
Shirley’s hands clenched.
“Should we call the police?”
“Already did.”
His voice remained steady.
“Anonymous tip about suspicious vehicles. They’ll probably take their time responding, but it’ll be on record.”
He stood.
“Stay inside. Away from the windows.”
He looked at her.
“Call that news contact of yours. The one with the drone camera.”
At 10:47 p.m., something crashed through the barn window.
Seconds later, fire erupted inside.
Another object followed.
Then another.
Flames climbed into the darkness as shouting carried across the field.
Gunshots cracked through the night.
The attackers fired recklessly across the property, striking structures and livestock as the assault escalated.
From a concealed position, Otis watched through his surveillance equipment.
Wade Gryom’s voice carried clearly across the property.
“Burn it all!”
His men shouted around him.
“Let’s see them try to keep this place now!”
The intruders moved with drunken confidence, unaware that cameras were documenting their actions from multiple angles.
Inside the farmhouse, Shirley maintained her composure.
“Yes,” she said clearly into the phone. “I’m watching it happen right now. Multiple perpetrators. Armed. Arson and destruction of property.”
She listened.
“Yes, we have video evidence.”
Another pause.
“No, I’m not leaving the house right now.”
The heat from the burning barn painted everything in orange light.
More gunfire rang out.
Otis remained controlled.
His breathing stayed steady as he monitored the attack and tracked where the men were moving.
The gang grew bolder.
They smashed windows.
Destroyed security lights.
Covered more of the property with hateful graffiti.
Then Wade’s voice rose above the chaos.
“Come on out, old man!”
He laughed.
“Face us like a man if you got the guts!”
Otis stayed out of sight.
Watching.
Recording.