Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT
Police photographed the hidden camera and arranged for a technician to disconnect it without destroying the device.
The technician found another camera near the staircase and a microphone beneath the kitchen table.
I had paid the electricity that kept those devices operating.
I had paid for the internet that carried their recordings.
Brian had made me finance my own surveillance.
That discovery hurt more than the birthday insult because it turned every private moment of mourning into something he might have watched.
Naomi petitioned the court to restrict unauthorized contact and preserve digital evidence.
Before the hearing, our neighborhood lost power at 9:43 p.m.
The houses across the road remained brightly lit.
Only mine and Ruth's went dark.
Then my back door alarm sounded.
Ruth called emergency services while I moved away from the windows.
A flashlight swept across the kitchen.
Someone rattled the cellar door.
I heard two voices.
One belonged to Brian.
“Find the red ledger,” he said.
The other man answered, “He may have moved it.”
The police arrived before they reached the study.
Brian fled through the garden, leaving a muddy footprint on Helen's flowerbed.
The second intruder escaped over the back fence.
Officers found a duffel bag with gloves, a small pry bar, and several blank property forms.
Brian later claimed he had come to make sure I was safe during the outage.
The security recording from Ruth's battery-powered doorbell showed him carrying the bag before he entered.
At the hospital the next morning, doctors examined the cut on my hand from a broken glass.
I told the attending nurse how long I had ignored the warning signs.
She said quietly, “Being family doesn't make someone safe.”
Naomi called while I was waiting for discharge.
The court had granted an expedited hearing on the guardianship petition.
Brian's lawyer intended to argue that the attempted break-in was a confused episode I had imagined.
I glanced at the bandage on my palm.
“Then we show them the recording.”
Naomi's reply was grim.
“The recording system was remotely wiped an hour ago.”
I looked at Ruth.
She gave me the smallest smile.
May you like
“Good thing I never trusted the cloud,” she said, holding up the memory card she had removed before the outage.
