“We're opening an internal incident because your remote-work endpoint supports contract work.”
“Does this involve classified processing?”
“No.”
“Correct.”
“Any controlled data exposed?”
“No evidence.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“We may need corporate security to coordinate with the carrier if the damage was intentional.”
“Fine.”
I spent the rest of the day on cellular backup.
Slow.
Usable.
Annoying.
No government convoy.
No dramatic raid.
Just work.
At 5:10, Tom Alvarez messaged me.
Camera catches part of alley but motion zone didn't trigger until 10:29. I have something. Want me to send or should I preserve original?
That question told me Tom understood evidence better than I expected.
I replied:
Preserve original. Export a copy if the camera supports it. Don't edit or enhance.
He sent a thumbs-up.
Then another message.
You may want to see this.
I walked two houses over.
Tom was fifty-one.
Quiet.
IT support manager for a hospital network.
We had spoken maybe six times.
His garage camera covered the rear of his driveway and part of the utility pole behind my lot.
He opened the recording.
10:27:44.
Empty alley.
10:29:03.
Movement.
A person entered the edge of frame.
Female.
Light jacket.
Hair pulled back.
She walked toward the pole.
Paused.
Looked around.
Bent near the fence line.
The camera angle did not show the cable itself.
At 10:31:08, she stood.
Something dark was visible in one hand.
Possibly a tool.
Then she moved away.
The face was indistinct.
But the posture looked familiar.
Tom said nothing.
Neither did I.
Then at 10:32:17, she reappeared in better light.
Linda.
No ambiguity.
Same jacket she had worn at my side gate.
Tom leaned back.
“Oh.”
I felt strangely calm.
“Can you preserve the whole clip?”
“Yes.”
“Don't post it.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
Tom looked at me.
“What are you going to do?”
“Give it to the carrier and police if they ask.”
“You aren't confronting her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if she did this, I want the record before the argument.”
Tom nodded.
“Smart.”
I slept badly.
Tuesday morning at 8:06, a white fiber-service truck pulled into the alley.
Technician named Mark Ellis.
Mid-forties.
Baseball cap.
Sunburned neck.
Steel thermos so dented it looked inherited.
He examined the hanging drop.
“Someone cut this.”
“I assumed.”
Mark crouched.
Looked at both ends.
“No crush damage.”
“No tension pull.”
“Clean blade or cutter.”
He photographed everything.
Then called his supervisor.
“Customer has camera footage?”
“Yes.”
“Don't send it to me personally.”
“We'll give you an incident upload link.”
Professional.
Mark ran an optical test from the demarcation side.
Then checked upstream records.
He frowned.