Chapter 8: Greg's Last Move
Three days passed.
The code enforcement officer came on Tuesday.
He walked the property line, photographed the hedge, asked me to walk him through the incident log, and left without telling me anything except that the process was ongoing.
He had the careful neutrality of someone who had learned not to show his hand early.
Ray called that evening.
"Greg came over this morning," he said.
"What did he say?"
"He said he wanted to clear the air.
He said the whole thing had gotten out of hand and he thought we should talk like adults." A pause.
"He also said he'd noticed my fence needed repainting and offered to have his crew do it for free."
"What did you say?"
"I told him my fence was fine and closed the door." Another pause.
"He stood on my porch for about a minute before he left."
"Ray.
Don't accept anything from him.
No favors, no repairs, no gifts."
"I know." His voice was dry.
"I'm seventy-two, not twelve."
On Wednesday, a letter arrived.
Addressed to Tom and me, from a law firm I didn't recognize.
It was two pages long and used a great deal of formal language to communicate one central idea: that we had made false and defamatory statements about Greg Callahan to multiple third parties, and that if we did not withdraw the county complaint and issue a written retraction within ten business days, legal action would follow.
I photographed both pages and sent them to Donna before I'd finished reading the second one.
She called back within the hour.
"Congratulations," she said.
"He's scared."
"Is this serious?"
"The letter is serious in the sense that it required a lawyer to write it.
The underlying claim is not serious.
You filed a factually documented complaint with a government agency.
That is protected activity.
He cannot sue you for that." A pause.
"This is a pressure tactic.
He's hoping you'll back down."
"I'm not going to back down."
"I know.
I'm going to send a response today.
It will be brief and it will make clear that we are aware the complaint is protected, that we have retained counsel, and that any further contact of this nature will be added to the record." She paused again.
"Linda.
He just handed us something."
"What?"
"The letter acknowledges the pattern.
His lawyer listed the county complaint, Ray's statement, and Patricia's name.
He knows about all three.
That means he's been monitoring the situation closely enough to identify the other complainants." Her voice was careful but precise.
"That's not the behavior of someone who believes he's innocent.
That's the behavior of someone who is trying to contain damage."
Tom read the letter twice that evening.
Then he set it on the table.
"He threatened us with a lawsuit," he said.
"Donna says it won't go anywhere."
"That's not what I mean." He looked at me.
"He went after Ray.
He went after that family at the end of the street until they moved.
He's been doing this for nine years." He was quiet for a moment.
"And now he's trying to do it to us.
With lawyers."
"Yes."
"I want to make sure we finish this," Tom said.
"Not just for us."
I looked at him across the table.
"So do I," I said.
My phone rang at nine that evening.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Silence for a moment.
Then a voice I recognized.
"Linda." It was Carol.
Greg's wife.
Her voice was low and careful, like someone speaking in a room where they didn't want to be overheard.
"I need to talk to you.
Not about the complaint.
Not about any of that." A pause.
"About Greg."
May you like
I sat very still.
"I'm listening," I said.
