Hydraulic whines echoing off the houses. Vivian's blazer makes that crinkling sound again as she shifts her weight. Mr. Rivera, you seem to be looking for problems where none exist.
We're simply trying to maintain property values for everyone's benefit. I appreciate that. But before I move a mailbox that's been in the same spot for 5 years, I'd like to see the actual bylaw language. Seems reasonable, right?
Braden starts to say something, but Vivian cuts him off with a look that could freeze coffee. Here's where things take an interesting turn. Instead of backing down like she probably expected, I just smiled and pulled out my phone. Actually, let me just record this conversation for my own records.
You know, documentation purposes. The effect was immediate and beautiful. Vivian's confident demeanor cracked like an egg hitting concrete. That won't be necessary, she says quickly.
You'll receive all necessary documentation with your formal violation notice. 48 hours, Mr. Rivera. We'll be conducting daily inspections until this matter is resolved.
Daily inspections. As they walk away, I notice Braden's taking more photos, not just of the mailbox, but of my house, my windows, my car. The sound of his camera shutter clicking carries in the morning air like some kind of suburban surveillance operation. I close the door and finish my coffee, which has gone lukewarm.
But I'm not worried about temperature. I'm thinking about those board meeting minutes I just requested and wondering why two simple questions made them both so nervous. Something tells me this mailbox situation is about to get a lot more interesting. 2 days later, I'm pulling into my driveway after a 14-hour shift when my phone rings. city water department asking about a complaint regarding my sprinkler system allegedly violating drought restrictions.
Here's the thing. I don't have a sprinkler system, just a garden hose I drag out maybe twice a month to water Sophia's sad little herb garden. When I explain this, the guy sounds genuinely confused and says they'll close the complaint. But somebody clearly wasted city resources with a bogus report.
The next morning, Sophia comes downstairs looking like she's been punched. Dad, why are the neighbors asking weird questions about our house? Turns out Vivian's been making rounds at the weekend barbecues, dropping casual hints about all the suspicious activity at the Rivera place. How many unmarked cars show up.
How men in plain clothes have business meetings in my living room. How it makes other families uncomfortable. What's brilliant about her strategy is that most neighbors have no clue I'm a cop. They see detective meetings, unmarked vehicles, guys in civilian clothes.