She was confessing to discriminatory targeting while federal equipment recorded every word.
Derek tried damage control. "What my aunt means is that all residents receive equal treatment under established community guidelines."
"Equal treatment?" Dolores whirled on him like a striking snake. "You think I spent six years building property values just to watch them destroyed by people who think garages are workshops?"
The mask wasn't just slipping. It had shattered completely.
"Dolores, please stop."
"No, Derek. I'm finished pretending this wasn't necessary. We identified 17 properties occupied by undesirable demographics. Seventeen families dragging down everyone else's investment."
The taste of victory was metallic on my tongue, like perfectly polished chrome.
"What makes someone undesirable?"
Derek looked ready to run, but Dolores was in full confession mode, her narcissism demanding she prove how clever she'd been.
"Single mothers with multiple children creating noise, elderly people who can't maintain properties properly, blue-collar workers who use garages for this filth."
She gestured at my restoration setup like it was a disease.
"And your solution was harassment until people moved?"
"Targeted enforcement until voluntary relocation occurred. Standard property management technique used nationwide."
"Including filing false police reports?"
Derek physically recoiled, but Dolores doubled down with suicidal confidence.
"I filed legitimate safety complaints about suspicious activities, groups of men gathering regularly, possible substance use, potential weapons storage. Any responsible HOA president would contact authorities about criminal behavior."
The truth was that she had just described the reports investigators were examining as part of the case.
"The truth is, Nathaniel, this neighborhood was experiencing problematic demographic shifts, property values declining, community standards deteriorating. Someone had to take decisive action."
Derek grabbed her arm desperately. "Dolores, stop talking right now."
But she shook him off. Rage and arrogance had overridden survival instincts completely.
"You want the real truth? We identified your property as high-priority acquisition. Prime location, below-market purchase potential, significant improvement opportunity after demographic correction."
The garage went silent except for the faint hum of hidden equipment.
Derek's face was white as fresh primer. "Jesus Christ, Dolores, what have you done?"
Derek's horror at his aunt's confession lasted exactly three seconds before pure survival instinct kicked in.
"Nathaniel, listen to me carefully," he said, pulling out his phone and showing me a banking app. "I can transfer $50,000 to your account right now, today. Just a gesture of goodwill to resolve this misunderstanding."
The smell of desperation mixed with motor oil as he stepped closer to my workbench.
"Fifty thousand to forget whatever you think you heard. Another fifty when the federal investigation concludes with no charges against my aunt."
Dolores smiled like a shark scenting blood. "Derek's right. You're a working man, Nathaniel. A hundred thousand dollars would solve a lot of problems."
I could practically hear Agent Martinez taking notes from across the street as they dug their graves deeper.