Nick stayed behind.
Allison looked at him.
"You've been angry all day."
Nick didn't deny it.
"I can handle someone threatening me."
He looked toward the stairs.
"But they scared Logan."
Allison nodded.
"I know."
Nick's voice became quieter.
"That's what makes me angry."
Allison squeezed his hand.
"Then don't let anger make the decisions."
Nick looked at her.
She was right.
The next morning, something unexpected happened.
A neighbor knocked on their door.
His name was Marcus Reed.
"I saw your police cars," Marcus said.
Nick invited him inside.
Marcus lowered his voice.
"I've seen that man before."
Nick immediately paid attention.
"Victor?"
"I don't know his name. But he comes around the neighborhood at night."
"When?"
"Usually after midnight."
"What does he do?"
"Walks around. Looks at houses."
Marcus hesitated.
"Two weeks ago, I saw him talking to someone near the community clubhouse."
"Who?"
"I couldn't see."
Nick thanked him.
Then Marcus added something that changed everything.
"I remember the car."
Nick stared at him.
"What car?"
"Dark sedan. Old model. I think it's a blue Crown Victoria."
Nick's heart began pounding.
Because he had seen that same vehicle before.
Not just outside his home.
He had seen it parked behind the Oakridge Home Association clubhouse.
And now Nick had a lead.
But he didn't know yet that someone else was watching the Grace family.
Someone much closer than they imagined.
The Oakridge clubhouse sat at the center of the neighborhood.
It was a low brick building surrounded by trees, a small parking lot, and a community garden.
Nick arrived there just after sunrise.
He didn't go inside.
Instead, he parked across the street.
He watched.
At 8:15, a maintenance truck arrived.
At 8:32, two board members entered.
At 9:04, an unfamiliar blue sedan appeared.
Nick's stomach tightened.
The same type of vehicle Marcus had described.
A man stepped out.
Nick raised his phone and took several photographs.
The man wasn't Victor.
At least not the man Nick had seen at his house.
This person was older, wearing a gray jacket.
He walked into the clubhouse.
Nick waited.
Twenty minutes later, Karen Mitchell arrived.
Nick called her.
"There's a blue sedan outside."
"Where?"
"The clubhouse."
She went silent.
"Nick, don't approach anyone."
"I won't."
Five minutes later, Karen walked outside.
She saw the car.
Her expression changed.
She immediately called the police.
The vehicle left before officers arrived.
But this time, Nick had something useful.
The license plate.
The police traced it to a man named Thomas Avery.
Thomas owned a small property management company.
And his company had once provided services to Oakridge.
Karen checked the association records.
There it was.
Thomas Avery had been dismissed eighteen months earlier after a dispute over missing association funds.
Nick began to understand.
This might not be random.
Someone might be using the HOA's name to intimidate residents.
But why?
The answer came from an unexpected source.
Logan.
That afternoon, Logan came downstairs carrying an old tablet.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"I found something."
Nick looked at the screen.
It was a neighborhood forum.
Someone had posted a picture of a proposed development plan.
The plan showed a large commercial complex planned near Oakridge Drive.
Nick frowned.
"What does this have to do with us?"
Logan pointed.
"Look at the highlighted houses."
Their house was one of them.
Nick's face went still.
Several properties on the street had been marked.
The development company wanted to buy those properties.
If enough residents sold, the project could proceed.
"But why threaten us?"
Logan shrugged.
Nick looked at Allison.
"Because pressure makes people sell."
Allison understood immediately.
Someone might be trying to frighten homeowners into leaving.
The fake HOA enforcement notices were not about bicycles or mailboxes.
They were psychological warfare.
Make residents feel watched.
Make them believe they were violating rules.
Make them think their homes were becoming impossible to live in.
Then offer them an easy way out.
Sell.
Nick contacted Daniel Brooks again.
The lawyer listened.
"This is becoming more serious."
"Can we stop the development?"
"Maybe. But first we need evidence."
That evening, Nick received an email from an unknown sender.
There was no subject.
Only one sentence.
Stop digging.
Nick showed it to Allison.
She stared at the screen.
Then another email arrived.
Next time, the window won't be empty.
Allison's face went pale.