My first call was to my lawyer. Evan McKee—measured, composed, the kind of attorney who could make a disaster sound solvable.
“I want you to tell me what my options are,” I said. “My mother and sister called the police and said I was trespassing on my own property.”
A brief pause. “Do you have proof?”
“I have everything,” I replied. “And I have cameras.”
Evan let out a quiet breath. “Okay. Then we proceed cleanly.”
That afternoon, I accessed my security account. The video was unmistakable: me arriving calmly, Mom stepping into my path, Caroline leaning in to whisper, Mom dialing 911. Mom’s voice was clear: stranger trespassing. Caroline’s voice followed: I don’t know her.
It was so overt it bordered on theatrical—because it was.
I submitted a public records request for the officers’ bodycam footage. Evan drafted a formal letter to the department outlining the discrepancies and requesting the incident report be corrected. He also advised that I file my own report: false reporting and attempted unlawful eviction.
