Her response is predictably unhinged. She posts a lengthy manifesto about outside agitators and residents who don't understand community values, claims she has substantial evidence of illegal activities that justify extreme measures. The paranoia in her writing is so obvious that even her supporters start backing away. Wednesday morning, Braden escalates to full stalker mode.
He's not just photographing my house anymore. He's sitting in his Honda at the end of my driveway with what looks like professional surveillance equipment. A telephoto lens pointed at my front windows, audio recording gear visible in the back seat. When I leave for work, he follows at a distance, thinking he's invisible in morning traffic.
The amateur hour surveillance would be hilarious if it wasn't targeting my family. I've run undercover operations against actual criminals with better fieldcraft than this wannabe mall cop. But his incompetence works in my favor. Every stalking incident gets documented.
Every traffic violation noted. Every privacy invasion recorded for the prosecution file. Sophia texts me from school. Dad, creepy guy is back, but this time he's got binoculars.
The photo she sends shows Braden positioned across from the high school entrance. Telephoto lens and binoculars both visible through his windshield. The sight of this grown man surveilling teenagers with professional equipment makes my blood pressure spike into dangerous territory. When I drive over during lunch break, I find him in full paparazzi mode.
Long lens focused on the student parking lot, notebook in hand, taking what appears to be detailed surveillance notes about kids getting into cars. The smell of fast food wrappers and stale cigarettes drifts from his open window as I approach. Afternoon, Braden. Lovely day for wildlife photography.
He startles so hard he nearly drops his camera. I'm conducting authorized security assessments of potential threats to community safety. Security assessments of children at a public school. I let the words hang in the air like smoke from his chain smoking habit.
You know what that sounds like to most people? His face goes pale as notebook paper. I'm not. That's not what I'm doing.
Then explain exactly what you are doing because from where I'm standing, this looks like predatory stalking behavior involving minors. The word predatory hits him like a physical blow. And he starts stammering about HOA protocols and community safety standards. But here's the beautiful mini twist.
While he's defending his creepy surveillance operation, I'm recording everything on my phone. Not just his pathetic excuses, but the equipment in his car, the photos he's taking, the notebooks full of surveillance data about my daughter and her classmates. This equipment, I say, gesturing at his telephoto lens setup. How much did the HOA budget for professional surveillance gear?