“Do you have the original communications?”
“Yes.”
“Back them up.”
“I already have copies.”
“Make more.”
Nick nodded.
Sarah continued.
“And don't confront Kelly.”
Nick looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if she knows what you have, she'll start destroying evidence.”
Nick stared at the floor.
“What if she already is?”
“Then we move quickly.”
That afternoon, Allison sat beside Logan.
His condition had not improved.
She looked exhausted.
Nick sat next to her.
“We found something.”
Allison didn't look away from their son.
“What?”
“The HOA president may have authorized the enforcement team.”
Allison closed her eyes.
“Can we prove it?”
“Not yet.”
“Then prove it.”
Nick reached for her hand.
She squeezed his fingers.
“We're not doing this because we're angry.”
Nick nodded.
“We're doing it because someone has to stop them.”
That sentence became the foundation of everything that followed.
Nick began organizing the evidence.
Every email.
Every photograph.
Every invoice.
Every timestamp.
Every vehicle record.
Every witness.
He created folders.
Then timelines.
Then cross-references.
It was the engineer in him.
Systems could be understood.
Failures could be isolated.
And lies could be dismantled.
One piece at a time.
The black truck became the center of the investigation.
Nick knew the attack had lasted only seconds.
But modern neighborhoods left traces.
Traffic cameras.
Doorbell cameras.
Parking cameras.
Business surveillance.
Cellphone footage.
He contacted neighbors.
At first, people were reluctant.
Then one elderly resident named Mrs. Patterson called him.
“I have something.”
Nick visited her home.
She showed him a security recording.
The black truck had passed her house fourteen minutes before the attack.
The plate was partially visible.
Nick froze the image.
The last four digits were clear.
He forwarded the information to Detective Wells.
Another neighbor had footage.
A third had a timestamp.
A fourth had recorded the truck leaving.
Piece by piece, the mystery began to disappear.
The vehicle was registered to a man named Dave Thompson.
Dave had worked as a private security contractor.
He had no connection to law enforcement.
His passenger was identified as Ken Rudolph.
Nick searched their names through publicly available records.
There were prior complaints.
Nothing that by itself proved responsibility for the attack.
But enough to raise questions.
Then Sarah called.
“We have another problem.”
“What?”
“Kelly Mason is claiming she never authorized anyone to use force.”
Nick frowned.
“She says the men were independent contractors.”
“Exactly.”
“So she admits they existed.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she call them HOA enforcement?”
Sarah was silent.
“That,” she said, “is the question.”
Three days after the attack, Allison refused to leave Logan's bedside.
She barely ate.
Barely slept.
She held his hand constantly.
Nick tried to convince her to rest.
She wouldn't.
Then, early one morning, something happened.
Logan's fingers moved.
Allison froze.
“Nick.”
He was asleep in a chair.
“Nick.”
He woke immediately.
“What?”
“Look.”
Logan's eyelids trembled.
Nick stood.
The baby's eyes opened.
Only slightly.
But they opened.
Allison began crying.
She bent over him.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Nick covered his mouth.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he leaned closer.
“Hey, buddy.”
Logan's eyes moved.
They didn't focus for long.
But he was awake.
Alive.
Fighting.
A doctor later explained that recovery would take time.
There could be complications.
There would likely be rehabilitation.
Nobody could promise the future.
But Logan had survived the most dangerous hours.
That was enough.
Outside the hospital room, Allison looked at Nick.
“We're going all the way.”
Nick knew what she meant.
“No matter how long it takes.”
“No matter who is involved.”
Nick nodded.
“We don't hurt anybody.”
Allison looked directly into his eyes.
“We don't become them.”
Those words stopped Nick cold.
For days, anger had been pushing him toward revenge.
But Allison reminded him of something more important.
They wanted justice.
Not vengeance.
So Nick made a decision.
He would build a case so strong that nobody could erase it.
Six days after the attack, Nick's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Mr. Grace?”
“Yes.”
“This is Agent Donnelly.”
Nick stepped into the hallway.
“What agency?”
“I'd rather discuss that in person.”
Nick's heart began beating faster.
“Why?”
“We received materials related to the Oakridge incident.”
“What materials?”
“Your evidence.”
Nick looked through the hospital window.
Logan was asleep.
“What do you need?”
“Everything.”