The scope of her arrogance was staggering. But Patricia wasn’t done.
“My office also ran a background check,” she said, pulling out a separate file. “Vivian Ashworth has three prior insurance fraud convictions in Phoenix. She’s a career criminal who moved to Colorado to find fresh victims.”
The plan crystallized right there in my kitchen. It wasn’t just about getting my road back. It was about dismantling a localized dictatorship.
“Here is the battle plan,” Patricia announced, pulling out a stack of heavily stamped legal forms. “Formal termination notices delivered to all 58 households simultaneously. Seventy-two hours later, every unauthorized vehicle gets removed.”
Jackson pulled up the neighborhood traffic flow on his tablet. “Forty-three households use your road as primary access. Without it, they’re looking at a six-mile detour through Pine Valley Township every single day. Emergency services are exempt, of course. But soccer practice, grocery runs, the daily commute? That’s entirely up to you.”
“What about the innocent neighbors caught in the crossfire?” I asked.
“They’re victims too,” Patricia noted. “But Vivian robbed them to pave your road. Full restitution comes after the criminal proceedings conclude. Right now, we need maximum pressure to force the state prosecutor’s hand.”
I made one phone call to Carlos Rodriguez, owner of Rodriguez Brothers Towing. When I told him I needed to discuss a large-scale vehicle removal from private property, he laughed so hard the sound bounced off my workshop walls.
“How many trucks would you need to tow 58 cars simultaneously?” I asked.
“For you, Señor Sullivan? I will bring the whole fleet,” Carlos promised.
Thursday evening, Vivian hosted another mandatory emergency meeting at the community center, desperately trying to rally the neighborhood against me. It was the perfect tactical opportunity. While all 58 households were gathered in one room, Patricia dispatched four process servers to the parking lot and the subdivision.
