Inside, my work laptop had dropped to its backup connection.
The router cabinet normally displayed a line of green indicators.
Now the optical terminal showed red.
LOS.
Loss of signal.
I stared.
Carrier outage, I thought.
Annoying.
Not extraordinary.
I checked the provider status page using my phone.
No area outage.
I rebooted nothing.
Another habit from work.
When a system fails unexpectedly, random reboots destroy information.
I called the carrier.
Business support answered.
“Meridian Fiber Business Services. How can I help?”
I gave the circuit number.
The representative ran remote diagnostics.
“Your optical endpoint disappeared at 10:31.”
“Neighborhood outage?”
“No.”
“Any upstream maintenance?”
“None showing.”
She paused.
“I’m seeing light loss at the drop.”
“Physical?”
“Likely.”
“We can dispatch.”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow morning is the normal window.”
I explained the circuit supported remote employment.
She checked the account.
“I see the enhanced service profile.”
“I’ll escalate.”
“Temporary cellular available?”
“I already have backup.”
“Good.”
“We’ll notify you when a technician is assigned.”
I went outside.
The provider box sat near the alley behind the garage.
At first everything looked normal.
Then I saw the empty space.
The black fiber drop that normally descended from the pole to the service path ended abruptly six feet above ground.
The lower section hung near the conduit.
Clean cut.
Not torn.
Not chewed.
Not pulled loose.
Cut.
I stood there longer than necessary.
Then looked at the ground.
A short section of fiber lay beside the fence.
The end was sharply severed.
No storm.
No fallen branch.
No construction.
Someone had taken a tool to it.
My anger arrived slowly.
First confusion.
Then disbelief.
Then the physical warmth of adrenaline.
I did not touch the cable.
Instead I took photographs.
Wide shot.
Pole.
Property line.
Service box.
Cut ends.
Ground.
Alley.
I turned on my phone’s timestamp and location metadata.
Then took a short video showing the entire route.
Years of investigation-adjacent work had taught me something simple.
Document before altering.
I called the carrier again.
“Your line is physically severed?”
“Yes.”
“Do not touch the cable.”
“I haven't.”
“We're updating the ticket as suspected vandalism.”
That word changed things.
“Vandalism?”
“A clean physical cut is treated differently than failure.”
“Technician will document.”
“Understood.”
I was still standing behind the garage when I heard my side gate click.
Linda appeared around the corner.
No clipboard this time.
Just a windbreaker and perfect posture.
She looked toward the cut cable.
Then at me.
“What happened?”
I studied her.
“My fiber was cut.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Did you cut it?”
Direct.