"Conservative total, $65,000," Phil muttered, his pen scratching across legal pads.
The smooth texture of those damning bank statements felt like holding dynamite. We had enough evidence to destroy Vivian completely. But I wanted more than justice. I wanted public humiliation.
The annual HOA meeting was coming up. Legally required. Impossible to postpone forever. Perfect venue for maximum exposure.
"We'll present everything," I told our team. "Financial fraud, mail tampering, Trevor's criminal activities in front of the entire neighborhood."
"She'll try to cancel," Dolores warned.
"Let her. That just proves guilt."
We spent weeks preparing our presentation. Professional slides, organized evidence, witness statements, everything needed to expose these criminals in spectacular fashion. But Vivian was getting desperate, and desperate people make stupid mistakes.
The next day, another hand-delivered notice from Trevor. Due to ongoing security concerns, the annual meeting has been postponed indefinitely. She was panicking, making increasingly illegal moves to protect her scam.
"Perfect. The deeper she digs this hole, the harder she falls," Janet said with satisfaction.
That night, I found Zoe doing homework in her room, stress written all over her face.
"Dad, kids at school are asking about police cars at our house. Are we going to have to move again?"
The raw vulnerability in her voice almost broke me. She'd already lost her stable family. Now she was terrified of losing her home, too.
"No, baby. We're not moving anywhere. I promise."
Trevor's screwdriver was still hidden in my garden, waiting for his return. My cameras were recording everything, ready to catch him red-handed. But this wasn't just about stopping burglary anymore. This was about protecting my daughter's future from these predators. The trap was set. Now I just had to wait for these criminals to spring it.
Three days after Vivian's lean threat, Janet burst into my kitchen like the house was on fire.
"Marcus, we got her!" she gasped, dropping a banker's box that hit my table with a satisfying thud. The musty smell of old documents and photocopy toner filled the air as papers spilled everywhere.
"Got her. How?"
"Financial records. Three years worth. My contact at the county clerk helped me dig these up. They're public documents, but Vivian's been hiding them behind bureaucratic red tape."
I started scanning bank statements, expense reports, contractor invoices. Numbers that should have told a simple story but read like fiction instead.
"Monthly HOA income," Janet said, her fingers stabbing at highlighted figures. "78 homes times $75. That's $5,850 per month, about $70,000 annually."
"Sounds right."