Chapter 4 - THE CAMERA ABOVE THE GARAGE DOOR
Ethan asked for a lawyer.
Good.
People should.
Heartland placed him on paid administrative leave while outside counsel reviewed his conduct.
I did not fire him.
Not yet.
I had spent too many years watching angry owners make accusations before documents finished speaking.
Wyatt’s house became a crime scene for most of New Year’s Day.
Police recovered medications from a locked bathroom cabinet.
Some prescribed to Piper.
Some to Irving.
Some unlabeled.
The chain.
The syringe.
Blood-stained towels.
Documents.
A sledgehammer from a garage tool rack.
That last item went to the lab.
Nobody told me it was definitely the weapon.
Good.
At three in the afternoon, Detective Morales called.
“We need to know who controls the exterior security system.”
“Wyatt.”
“Account is registered to Sabrina.”
I frowned.
“I paid for installation.”
“Can you access it?”
“Not legally if she changed credentials.”
“Correct.”
She was beginning to enjoy correcting me.
“Then what?”
“We obtained preservation through the provider.”
The house had cameras.
Front door.
Garage.
Driveway.
Back patio.
No basement.
Sabrina had disabled interior cameras months earlier because she claimed they invaded her privacy.
The exterior cameras were still enough.
December 17.
Ethan delivered Wyatt home.
Wyatt stumbled getting out.
Sabrina came outside.
She did not look surprised.
She and Ethan spoke for six minutes.
No audio.
Then Ethan handed her something.
A folder.
December 18.
Piper arrived.
Then Irving.
December 19.
No Wyatt leaving.
December 20.
No Wyatt.
December 21.
Nothing.
Then December 24.
At 8:11 p.m., the garage door opened.
Wyatt appeared.
Barefoot.
Wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
He staggered toward the driveway.
Sabrina ran after him.
Then Irving.
Wyatt reached the edge of the camera frame.
Irving tackled him.
Not gently.
The three disappeared behind the parked pickup.
Thirty seconds later, Irving reappeared carrying the sledgehammer.
The camera had no view of the ground.
But it recorded sound.
Wyatt screaming.
Once.
Then again.
Then a dull metallic thud.
I stopped watching.
Detective Morales paused the footage.
“You don’t have to continue.”
“Yes.”
The next image showed Irving and Sabrina dragging Wyatt into the garage by his arms.
His right leg did not move normally.
Piper followed carrying a small medical bag.
No ambulance.
No 911 call.
No doctor.
The camera showed the garage door closing.
Wyatt did not appear outside again until paramedics carried him away on January 1.
The video changed the case.
Still not into certainty.
Into evidence.
Morales said prosecutors were reviewing possible kidnapping, assault, abuse involving incapacitating substances, and attempted financial exploitation.
Attempted murder?
I asked.
She said:
“The recorded comments matter, but prosecutors will decide what charges the evidence supports.”
I liked her more every hour.
That evening, Wyatt asked for his phone.
Police had recovered it.
They were processing it.
“Can I get my work laptop?”
“Why?”
“There’s something on it.”
“What?”
“Don’t know if it’s still there.”
“Tell me.”
He stared at his brace.
“Sabrina had me sign things before the basement.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“What?”
“Checks. A home-equity paper. Maybe tax documents.”
“Voluntarily?”
He laughed.
“I was drugged, Dad.”
“Did you know what you were signing?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then why?”
“Because before they chained me, I still thought I could keep her calm.”
That sentence hurt.
Keep her calm.
The male version of all the excuses I had heard women make for years.
“What’s on the laptop?”
“I started keeping notes.”
“When?”
“November.”
“What about?”
“Sabrina’s spending.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He looked at me.
“Because you hated her from the beginning.”
“I didn’t hate her.”
“You said she liked what I represented.”
“She did.”
“See?”
He turned away.
“I didn’t want to hear I told you so.”
Pride.
Simple.
Expensive.
Relatable.
“Where is the laptop?”
“Office.”
Heartland’s IT department already had custody of Wyatt’s work machine as part of preservation.
Daniel obtained permission through company counsel to secure relevant business records while personal materials stayed protected.
An encrypted folder existed.
WY_PRIVATE.
Wyatt gave the password.
Inside were spreadsheets showing household spending.
Screenshots of texts.
Photos of prescription bottles.
One document titled:
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS.
I looked at him.
“You people need better file names.”
He almost smiled.
The document began in November.
Sabrina moved $40,000 from their joint account.
Claimed it was for home renovations.
It went to Palmer Management Group.
Irving had formed Palmer Management six months earlier.
Another transfer.
$25,000.
Another.
$60,000.
Then:
11/28 — Sabrina asked about Ozark Fleet valuation.
12/02 — Irving asked if ownership transfers automatically if I die.
12/05 — Piper told Sabrina I look “too tired to manage anything.”
12/09 — Found crushed pill in protein shake. Threw it away.
12/11 — told Sabrina I want separate finances.
12/15 — she found Vanguard account.
Then one final note.
12/17 — Ethan drove me home. Told him I think Sabrina is drugging me. He said, “Don’t say that unless you can prove it.”
I stared at the screen.
Ethan had lied.
Not only by omission.
Wyatt told him directly.
Then beneath the entry was something worse.
12/17, 8:44 p.m. — Ethan texted: “I talked to Sabrina. She says you’re having another episode. Take a few days off. We’ll clean up the ownership paperwork while you rest.”
I read it twice.
“Another episode?”
Wyatt looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Then his face changed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Sabrina has been telling people I’m bipolar.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Ever diagnosed?”
“No.”
“Treatment?”
“No.”
He looked sick.
“She told Ethan I had episodes?”
Apparently.
Daniel called minutes later.
Outside counsel had found a memo in Heartland’s files.
CONFIDENTIAL EXECUTIVE HEALTH CONCERN — WYATT YATES.
Prepared by Ethan.
Dated December 19.
It stated that Wyatt had shown “possible manic behavior, paranoia, medication noncompliance, and impaired financial judgment.”
It recommended temporary suspension of Wyatt’s authority.
Attached was a note from a psychiatrist.
I recognized the doctor’s last name.
May you like
Palmer.
Sabrina’s older brother.
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