Thursday night, I worked late.
Zoe was sleeping at a friend's house.
My cameras were active.
At around 1:30 a.m., my phone vibrated.
MOTION DETECTED — REAR ENTRY.
Then another alert.
FRONT DOOR.
I drove home as fast as I safely could.
When I pulled into my driveway, my front door was wide open.
Lights were on inside.
Drawers were being slammed.
My heart pounded.
I grabbed my phone and started recording.
Then I walked inside.
The kitchen looked like a tornado had gone through it.
Cabinet doors were open.
Papers covered the floor.
My filing cabinets had been emptied.
And standing in the middle of the destruction was Trevor.
He was holding my HOA documents.
He turned.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
"My mom runs the HOA," he said. "So I can go wherever I want."
I couldn't believe it.
"You're inside my house."
"I'm protecting community interests."
"You're burglarizing my house."
"I'm looking for evidence."
"Put the papers down."
He ignored me.
I called 911.
"There's an intruder inside my home. He's currently going through my property."
Trevor finally looked nervous.
"You're seriously calling the cops?"
"Yes."
"My mom is going to destroy you."
"Your mom isn't here."
Sirens appeared in the distance.
Trevor's confidence disappeared.
Two officers entered moments later.