Karen hesitated.
“I drove it in.”
“With his permission?”
“I was conducting association business.”
The deputy repeated the question.
“With his permission?”
Karen’s jaw tightened.
“The HOA has legitimate concerns regarding this property.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I recognized the tone.
It was the same tone the contractor had used.
Karen had spent so many years speaking in titles that she seemed genuinely offended whenever somebody asked for facts.
I handed the second deputy my phone.
“I have six-camera footage from before she entered until now.”
Karen snapped her head toward me.
“You recorded me without consent?”
The deputy looked toward the plainly visible security cameras mounted around the workshop exterior.
“On his own property?”
Karen said nothing.
I unlocked the personnel door and led the deputies inside.
I did not open the bay yet.
I showed them the shop exactly as the cameras had shown it to me: Karen’s Mercedes parked between the tables, the cabinet doors she had opened, the shelves she had photographed, and Ryan’s metal tractor on the floor.
I picked up the loose wheel.
“This was on that shelf when I left this morning.”
The deputy crouched beside the tractor.
“Valuable?”
“Not in money.”
He looked at me.
“My son and I built it.
He died six years ago.”
The deputy’s expression changed.
Behind us, Karen made an impatient sound.
“It was a piece of scrap metal sitting in an active work area.”
Everyone looked at her.
That sentence did more damage to Karen than anything I could have said.
The first deputy asked me to bring up the footage.
Emma had already saved the relevant clips remotely.
Camera three had the clearest view.
Karen entered the workshop with the contractors behind her.
She walked from station to station, photographing tools and opening storage without asking anyone because nobody was there to ask.
Then she backed toward the east shelf while filming the ceiling.
Her hip caught the edge.
Ryan’s tractor rocked once.
Twice.
Then fell.
The wheel snapped when it hit the concrete.
The recording captured the metallic crack.
Karen looked down.
The first contractor stepped toward it.
His recorded voice came through clearly.
“Should we pick that up?”
Then Karen’s voice.
“That scrap shouldn’t be on a professional floor anyway.”
Nobody spoke inside the workshop after the clip ended.
The deputy replayed the last ten seconds.
Karen folded her arms.
