"He did this," she declared, her voice echoing off the brick houses.
I stared at her, stunned. "What?"
"He sabotaged my car!" she cried out, looking at the fire captain.
The fire captain, holding his heavy helmet, turned his gaze slowly toward me.
Karen’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "He knew I was charging here! He set this up!"
I almost let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the accidental confession.
She kept going, emboldened by the attention. "He’s been threatening me for weeks! He's been trying to intimidate me!"
"I asked you to stop stealing from my outlet," I said quietly, the anger finally replacing my shock.
"You changed something on the power line!" she yelled. "You did this!"
"No, I didn't."
"You set a trap!" she screamed, tears of rage cutting through the soot on her face.
I stood there on the damp grass, the weight of the phone in my pocket anchoring me to reality. I thought about the tampering alerts. I thought about the crystal-clear video of her trespassing. I thought about the energy monitor data logged safely on my server, proving exactly what my outlet had—and had not—done.
I looked at Karen, then at the fire captain, and said absolutely nothing. I didn't need to. The cameras had already spoken for me.