Ironically, Jason had installed them himself.
The footage showed everything clearly.
Jason walking out of the garage with a gas can.
Pouring fuel across the hood.
Lighting a match.
His face perfectly visible under the porch light.
Jason stared at the video in disbelief.
“You recorded me,” he muttered.
“You recorded yourself,” I replied.
Minutes later he was sitting in the back of a police car.
During the struggle, his key ring dropped on the driveway.
Attached to it was a small insurance tag.
I picked it up.
The policy had been updated that very morning.
Full coverage.
That’s when I realized something chilling.
This hadn’t just been anger.
It had been a plan.
Jason had hoped to burn the car and collect insurance money.
Unfortunately for him, the car he destroyed was the one he bought himself on credit just a week earlier.
By evening my parents had arrived.
My father looked at the burned car once, then at Jason in handcuffs.
Jason shouted from the police cruiser, “Tell your rich daddy to fix this!”
I walked closer so he could hear me clearly.
“No,” I said calmly. “This time the truth will fix it.”
That night I checked into a hotel and called a lawyer.