to hurt him.
I didn’t want to damage his vehicle.
I didn’t want to create anything dangerous.
I simply wanted one thing.
I wanted Clark to feel what it was like to be exposed.
So I finally called Katie.
When I finished telling her about the confrontation, she went quiet.
“He called you greedy?”
“Yes.”
NEXT PAGE
“And shut the door in your face?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
The way she said it made her sound like a military commander.
“We’re going to handle this differently.”
She came Saturday morning.
We sat at my kitchen table with coffee and a notebook.
“First,” she said, “we save everything.”
She downloaded the footage.
Then discovered the camera had recorded Clark on three separate nights.
Three dates.
Three clips.
Three trips across my lawn with his red gas container.
She backed everything up.
“Airtight,” she said.
Then she installed a second
