Her caution was sensible.
It also felt unbearably slow.
That night I called my attorney, Leah Foster, and asked about protecting confidential business records.
Leah listened, requested copies, and scheduled a meeting for Monday.
She also gave me advice that made me laugh bitterly.
“Do not negotiate with somebody who has already tried to turn your living room into their conference room.”
I promised I would not.
Chapter 14: The Cost of Being Watched
The doctor said my knee was recovering normally.
I did not feel normal.
I stopped sitting on the couch because I associated it with the camera’s view.
I covered the mantel clock with a dish towel even after police removed the device.
At night I listened for footsteps on the porch.
I checked locks twice and sometimes three times before going to bed.
Elena noticed that I was avoiding the living room when she visited.
She asked whether I wanted help finding a counselor who worked with people after an invasion of privacy.
I resisted the idea at first.
I had spent years solving problems with schedules, budgets, and firm decisions.
I did not know how to manage a problem that had already happened and could not be erased.
Elena was patient without pretending patience would cure it.
She reminded me that fear after a violation was not proof that the intruder still controlled me.
I made an appointment.
The counselor, Dr.
Erin Wallace, asked what the camera had taken from me.
I answered with the obvious things first.
It had taken privacy, confidence, and peace.
She waited.
Then I said it had taken my ability to trust my own judgment.
I had welcomed Patricia inside.
I had accepted the cleaning service she recommended.
I had joked with her over the fence while she knew things I had never told her.
Erin helped me separate the choices I made in good faith from the actions another person took to exploit them.
The distinction did not make me feel better immediately.
It gave me a place to begin.
Chapter 15: A Message From the Wrong Number
On Sunday morning I received a text from an unfamiliar number.
The message contained a photograph of my living room taken from the bookshelf’s point of view.
A caption beneath it said I should stop talking to the police if I wanted my private life to stay private.
I felt dizzy when I recognized the blue throw blanket on my couch.
The photograph had been taken during the week of my surgery.
