We knew about the blogger outreach, the livestream plan, even the talking points she'd prepared for her spontaneous confrontation.
"It's actually perfect," Agent Torres explained during our final coordination meeting. "She's going to commit multiple felonies on live video while providing us with a real-time confession of her motives. We couldn't have scripted it better."
The irony was delicious.
Karen thought she was setting a trap for us, but she was actually walking into the most thoroughly documented arrest in HOA history.
Her support network was crumbling, too, but she was too obsessed to notice.
The other HOA board members had quietly distanced themselves once the financial irregularities became obvious.
Her husband was facing his own ethics investigation and couldn't provide political cover anymore.
Even Deputy Chad had been reassigned to different patrol areas after Internal Affairs started asking questions about his response to vandalism reports.
But Karen was beyond rational thinking at this point.
The psychological pressure of keeping her fraud scheme hidden while fighting off multiple investigations had pushed her past the breaking point.
She was exhibiting all the classic signs of someone losing control.
Paranoid about neighbors spying on her.
Making increasingly threatening phone calls to anyone who'd supported me.
Convinced that everyone was part of some vast conspiracy against her.
The night before the attorney general's visit, she made threatening calls to four different families, warning them about consequences if they continued collaborating with government harassment.
Each call was recorded by law enforcement.
Each one provided additional evidence of witness intimidation and criminal conspiracy.
I spent that final evening sitting on Pop's porch, watching the sunset paint the lake in shades of gold and crimson.
The sound of loons calling to each other across the water reminded me why this place was worth fighting for.
Tomorrow would determine whether I'd be able to enjoy peaceful evenings like this for the rest of my retirement or whether I'd spend my golden years battling Karen's appeals from federal prison.
The cabin felt different that night.
Not just because of the hidden cameras and recording equipment, but because it had become the center of something much bigger than my personal property dispute.
This was about whether small-time criminals with political connections could terrorize entire communities without consequences.
I pulled out Pop's worn leather Bible and read the passage he'd underlined about David facing Goliath.
He'd written in the margin, "Sometimes the little guy wins because he's fighting for something bigger than himself."
The morning would bring Karen's final desperate gambit.
She'd storm through that door thinking she was about to destroy her enemies, never realizing she was about to destroy herself.
The stage was set.
The cameras were rolling.
Law enforcement was in position.
All we had to do was wait for Karen to provide the grand finale to her own criminal career.
The taste of anticipation mixed with morning coffee had never been so sweet.
Attorney General Patricia Williamson was nothing like I'd expected.
Instead of some intimidating political figure, she was this down-to-earth woman in her 50s who reminded me of my old high-school principal.
Tough but fair, with eyes that missed nothing.