"Sounds like someone's planning a vacation."
"Gets better. She tried to empty the HOA reserve fund, all $63,000. Bank flagged it as suspicious activity and froze the accounts pending investigation."
I almost choked on my coffee.
"She tried to steal the entire reserve fund?"
"Every penny. Claimed it was for emergency legal expenses related to community safety threats. Bank manager called it the most obvious theft attempt he'd seen in 20 years."
The irony was delicious.
While Brenda had been trying to destroy my reputation with false reports, she'd been caught red-handed attempting to steal every dollar the community had saved for actual emergencies. Pool repairs, road maintenance, storm damage cleanup, all the money homeowners had contributed for legitimate community needs, and she tried to grab it all on her way out of town.
"There's more," Reynolds continued. "We traced some of those social media accounts spreading rumors about you. Three of them were created from Brenda's home IP address using fake names. Digital evidence of harassment, defamation, and cyberstalking."
"How long before arrests?"
"Monday morning. Federal charges for wire fraud, state charges for embezzlement, harassment, filing false reports, and attempted theft. She's looking at 10 to 15 years if convicted on everything."
I spent Friday afternoon watching Brenda's frantic activity from my porch.
More boxes, more shredding, more desperate phone calls. Her husband looked like a man who'd just discovered his wife was the Zodiac Killer. Her kids seemed confused about why Mommy was crying and Daddy was drinking whiskey at lunch.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixed with the acrid smell of burning documents from their backyard. Whatever she was destroying, it was creating enough smoke to alert the fire department.
The responding crew was led by Marshal Henderson, who gave me a knowing wink as they investigated the controlled burn that violated three city ordinances.
Saturday brought silence.
No activity at Brenda's house. No new social media attacks. No mysterious visitors or false reports.
The calm before the storm that would destroy her world completely.
Sunday evening, I sat on my porch with a beer, watching kids play in the street while parents chatted over fence lines. Normal neighborhood life resuming as the cancer of corruption prepared to be surgically removed.
The taste of justice was getting sweeter by the hour.
Monday couldn't come fast enough.
Monday morning arrived with all the drama of a Hollywood blockbuster.
I was sipping coffee and watching the sunrise paint Willowbrook streets in golden light when unmarked federal vehicles began rolling into the subdivision like a presidential motorcade.
The timing was perfect.