Chapter 2 - My Father’s Driveway
Grant did not hand Dad the camera immediately.
First he separated people.
Ethan to one side of the room.
Margaret to another.
Me with a paramedic.
Dad remained near me until Grant said:
“Colonel, I need you over here.”
My father hesitated.
I nodded.
He went.
The small camera had been used to look into Ethan’s locked study before officers entered.
Why the study?
Because Dad told 911 while driving that Ethan owned firearms.
Legally.
Usually secured.
Dad also reported that Ethan had made threatening comments about him before.
Police therefore treated the scene cautiously.
During the protective sweep, officers encountered the locked study.
They had not begun searching drawers.
They were checking whether another person or immediate threat might be inside.
The camera gave them a limited view.
Enough to show a desk.
A monitor.
And something unexpected.
Grant angled the screen.
My father stared.
I could see part of it from where I sat.
A house.
Driveway.
Mailbox.
Dark pickup truck.
Then Dad said:
“That’s my house.”
Grant looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“That’s my driveway.”
A live exterior camera view.
Not a recording from years earlier.
Dad’s truck was visible.
So was the flag he had put out that morning.
Grant asked:
“Do you have a security camera facing your driveway?”
“Yes.”
“Is this yours?”
“No.”
Grant turned toward Ethan.
Ethan said nothing.
On the desk beside the monitor was an open legal packet.
The camera could not read everything.
But the first page carried two names large enough to see.
ETHAN CALDWELL.
RICHARD HAYES.
Dad looked at me.
I felt sick for an entirely different reason.
I had told him:
May you like
I was terrified he'd go after you too.
I had never known how literal that fear had become.
