I set the phone logs on the table.
As for surveilling your home, I haven’t been anywhere near your property.
What I have been doing is recording activity on my own property.
Which brings me to Friday night.
I pulled out a tablet and queued up the security footage.
This is my property, my cameras.
Friday evening around six:fifteen p.m. I hit play.
The large screen showed crystal clear footage of Brandon’s BMW pulling up to my house.
Then Brandon and about twenty teenagers piling out, jumping my fence, and proceeding to throw a party in my pool area.
The timestamp was clear.
The faces were clear.
Everything was clear.
The room went dead silent as we watched Brandon and his friends trash my property.
You could hear the bottles breaking, the furniture being thrown around, someone yelling about pushing the grill into the pool.
This lasted for approximately four hours, I said, letting the footage play.
Trespassing, vandalism, destruction of property.
There’s also underage drinking, but we’ll get to that.
Karen’s face had gone from pale to red.
That that’s taken out of context.
There’s six hours of footage.
Karen, would you like me to play all of it?
Brandon had stopped recording.
He was staring at the screen, finally realizing that his pranks had been documented in perfect high definition.
But that’s not all.
I continued pulling out more documents.
Let’s talk about the pattern of behavior.
Monday night, trash dumped on my lawn.
Tuesday, constant harassment with car horns.
Wednesday, more trash.
Thursday, my truck tires slashed.
I showed the footage for each incident.
Brandon’s BMW was visible in every single one.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting, I said.
My voice still calm, still measured.
I started documenting everything about six months ago.
Not just incidents involving me, but incidents involving other residents.
I looked around the room.
Mrs.
Patterson, would you like to tell everyone about your garden gnomes?
Mrs.
Patterson stood up, trembling, but determined.
Karen, find me $two hundred because she said they violated aesthetic standards.
But those gnomes had been there for fifteen years before she became president.
And the Johnson’s, I continued.
Tom, Sarah, tell everyone about your car.
Tom stood.
We got fined $five hundred because our Honda was supposedly three in over the parking line.
Karen measured it herself.
Marcus Webb, your fence, Marcus stepped forward.
Someone spray painted it.
I have security footage showing Brandon’s car that night.
