"One more question," I said, adjusting a wrench while the recording equipment captured everything. "How many other neighborhoods are you running this operation in?"
Dolores's smile was pure predatory satisfaction. "Twelve active projects across three counties. Projected revenue for next fiscal year, approximately $4.7 million."
Derek sat down heavily on my workbench, his head in his hands. "You kept records of everything. Every neighborhood, every family, every operation."
"Illegal?" Dolores's voice rose to a near shriek. "We're optimization specialists. Property value enhancement through strategic resident management. There's nothing illegal about protecting community investments."
Through the garage window, I could see Agent Martinez approaching my driveway with backup agents and arrest warrants.
Derek saw them, too. "Dolores, they're coming."
But she was beyond rational thought, lost in her own narcissistic fantasy. "Let them come. I have documentation proving every action was legally justified community management."
Some people dig their own graves. Others excavate entire cemeteries.
Agent Martinez appeared at my garage entrance, flanked by federal agents and local police officers.
"Derek Weatherbe, Dolores Weatherbe, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit federal fraud, civil rights violations, and witness tampering."
The look on Dolores's face was priceless, pure shock mixed with the kind of rage that comes from realizing you've been outsmarted by people you considered inferior.
"This is entrapment," she screamed, backing toward my workbench. "He recorded us illegally. This is a setup."
Agent Martinez smiled coldly. "Mrs. Weatherbe, you walked onto Mr. Thompson's private property, and your statements were recorded under federal supervision. You also just described a multimillion-dollar conspiracy while attempting to influence a federal witness."
Derek raised his hands in surrender, his lawyer instincts finally kicking in. "I want an attorney. I'm not saying another word."
But Dolores wasn't finished destroying herself.
"You don't understand," she yelled at the agents. "We were protecting property values. We were preserving community standards. What we did was necessary."
"Ma'am," Rodriguez said, stepping into the garage with handcuffs ready, "what you did was commit serious crimes."
The garage filled with neighbors drawn by the commotion. Mrs. Briana appeared with her camera, documenting everything.
Bob the electrician brought his whole family. Janet, the teacher, was livestreaming from the edge of the driveway.
Forty-three people gathered in my driveway and front yard, watching Dolores Weatherbe get arrested for the second time in three days.
"This is all his fault."
Dolores pointed at me like I was personally responsible for her choices. "He destroyed our neighborhood with his noise and his criminal friends."
Chief Rodriguez stepped forward, removing his civilian jacket to reveal his police uniform underneath.
"Ma'am, I've been coming to this garage every Saturday for months. Mr. Thompson and his friends have never engaged in criminal activity here. You, however, just described systematic fraud and civil rights violations in your own words."
Dolores's face went white as she finally recognized Rodriguez from their previous encounters.
"You... you were working together the whole time?"
"No, ma'am. I was just helping my friend restore motorcycles. You decided to commit crimes."
Agent Martinez began reading their rights while neighbors recorded everything on their phones.