A week after settling into my new home, the former owner called with an unsettling admission: he’d forgotten to switch off the living room camera.
Part 3
By the time I got home, the rain had stopped. The house sat quiet, lights still on.
I stayed in the truck for a moment, looking at the window.
Then I went inside.
I checked everything—rooms, drawers, surfaces. Nothing looked out of place.
Until I felt something under the rug.
A small device.
A microphone.
Trevor hadn’t just planned. He’d been listening.
I removed it.
Then put it back.
If he wanted to listen, I’d let him hear exactly what I wanted him to hear.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I made a plan.
Protect Emma.
Stop the theft.
End Trevor’s leverage.
The next morning, Olivia called.
Her voice sounded normal. Careful.
“We might stop by tomorrow,” she said.
“Of course,” I replied.
After the call, I checked the workshop.
Something felt off.
The laptop had been moved.
They’d already been here.
I closed it slowly.
So that was it—they were speeding up.
I wrote one more line on my pad.
Under Protect: Secure assets.
Under Punish: Let him confess.
Because men like Trevor don’t just fall into traps.
They walk in convinced they’re smarter than everyone else.