The footage was crystal clear.
Karen Cromwell, HOA president and upstanding community member, vandalizing private property under cover of darkness.
The acrid smell of her cigarette smoke lingered in the morning air, mixing with the pine scent that usually made me feel peaceful.
Next came my boat dock.
I'd gone into town for groceries and returned to find my boat drifting halfway across the lake.
The heavy-duty chains I'd used to secure it had been cut with bolt cutters.
Clean, deliberate cuts that left metal shavings scattered across the dock planks.
That boat had been Pop's pride and joy, a 1978 bass boat that still ran like a dream.
Finding it bumping against the opposite shore, its hull scratched from the rocks, felt like someone had desecrated his grave.
But Karen's biggest mistake was going after my septic system.
I'd just passed a county inspection with flying colors, but suddenly my perfectly functioning system started backing up.
The smell was horrific.
That combination of sewage and chemical additives that made your eyes water from 50 feet away.
When the emergency septic service arrived, they found industrial-grade drain cleaner had been poured down my system, killing all the beneficial bacteria and creating a toxic mess.
"This is deliberate sabotage," the technician explained, holding up soil samples that showed chemical contamination. "Someone pumped commercial-grade acids into your system. This stuff costs serious money and requires specialized knowledge to use."
The repair bill was $3,200.
But more importantly, the chemical analysis provided forensic evidence that this wasn't random vandalism.
It was calculated destruction requiring insider knowledge of septic systems.
While I was dealing with sewage backup, Karen was orchestrating her media blitz.
Anonymous accounts flooded social media with posts about my ongoing property violations and deteriorating conditions threatening neighborhood safety.
The bots were so obvious it was almost comical.
Dozens of profiles with generic names posting identical complaints within minutes of each other.
She'd also ramped up the intimidation network.
Deputy Chad Cromwell's patrol presence increased dramatically.
He'd cruise by my cabin four or five times per day, always slowing down just enough to make his surveillance obvious.
Sometimes he'd sit in my driveway for 20 minutes, running license plates of anyone who visited.
The building inspector suddenly found code violations in work that had passed inspection just weeks before.
The fire marshal received anonymous tips about fire hazards that didn't exist.
Environmental Services got reports about illegal dumping in areas of my property they'd already cleared.
It was death by a thousand cuts, designed to exhaust my resources and break my spirit through bureaucratic warfare.
But I wasn't the only target anymore.
Karen had started going after my supporters, too.
Jake's electrical-contracting license was suddenly under review for safety violations.
Bill Carter, the retired judge who'd been advising me, received a formal complaint with the State Bar Association about improper legal counsel to non-clients.
The VFW post found themselves facing a surprise fire-safety inspection that threatened to shut down their weekly bingo nights.