Daniel could have bought a new truck years ago.
He simply didn't care.
The pickup had belonged to his father.
James Reed had bought it when Daniel was twenty-one.
The truck had survived construction sites, winters, accidents, and one very unfortunate encounter with a deer.
Daniel couldn't sell it.
Some things weren't about money.
His phone rang.
"Daniel?"
It was his wife’s sister, Melissa.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I got sprayed with a hose."
"What?"
Daniel laughed.
"Long story."
"Are you still moving?"
"Tomorrow."
"You're not going back there tonight?"
"No."
"Good."
Daniel looked at the police station.
Tomorrow would be his first official day as chief.
For twenty-eight years, he had worked his way through the department.
Patrol officer.
Detective.
Sergeant.
Lieutenant.
Deputy chief.
Now chief.
He hadn't wanted the ceremony.
He hated attention.
He had accepted the position because he believed the department needed someone who understood both the badge and the people behind it.
He had no idea his first major confrontation would happen before he even took office.
Melissa sighed.
"Daniel."
"Yeah?"
"Don't let that woman change who you are."
He looked through the windshield.
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
After the call ended, Daniel opened the glove compartment.
Inside was a photograph.
His father.
His mother.
Daniel at sixteen.
And Claire.
His wife.
On the back, Claire had written:
Build a life that doesn't require anyone's permission.
Daniel smiled sadly.
Then his phone rang again.
This time it was Officer Holloway.
"Chief?"
"What's up?"
"We found something."
Daniel straightened.
"What?"
"Your property file."
Daniel frowned.
"I have the deed."
"That's not what I mean."
Holloway lowered his voice.
"The previous owner filed a complaint against the neighborhood association six months ago."
Daniel listened.
"What kind of complaint?"
"Property interference."
"Meaning?"
"Association tried to force him to sell."
Daniel stared through the windshield.
"Why?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out."
Holloway paused.
"There is one more thing."
"What?"
"The complaint disappeared from the county records."
Daniel's expression changed.
"Who removed it?"
"We don't know."
"Find out."
"Yes, Chief."
Daniel ended the call.
He sat in silence.
The incident with Eleanor suddenly looked different.
Maybe she wasn't simply angry about a new neighbor.
Maybe she had a reason to want him gone.
Eleanor Whitmore had been president of Willow Creek Neighborhood Association for seven years.
She controlled everything.
Fence colors.
Mailbox designs.
Driveway repairs.
Landscaping schedules.
Holiday decorations.
Even the number of trash bins residents could place outside.
Most residents hated her.
Few challenged her.
She had built a reputation for being difficult.
But Eleanor believed she was protecting the neighborhood.
That was what she told herself.
The truth was more complicated.
Three years earlier, a developer named Gregory Vale had approached her.
He wanted Willow Creek.
Not the houses.
The land.
The neighborhood sat beside a planned commercial corridor.
A new shopping district.
A private medical complex.
Luxury apartments.
A hotel.
The entire project depended on acquiring enough property.
Twenty-two homeowners had already sold.
Three refused.
One was the Carlson family.
The other two were elderly homeowners who had no intention of moving.
Eleanor had been offered money to convince them.
She accepted.
At first, it was simple.
Pressure.
Letters.
Fines.
Association violations.
Then Daniel arrived.
His purchase of Carlson's house had destroyed the plan.
Worse, Daniel wasn't an ordinary homeowner.
He was the incoming police chief.
Eleanor knew exactly what that meant.
She had spent years creating fear.
Now someone with authority had moved directly into her neighborhood.
She couldn't allow him to investigate.
That evening, she called Gregory Vale.
"He knows."
"How much?"
"Enough."
Gregory was silent.
"Did you file the 911 report?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"He knows I'm targeting him."