Travis Cole did not argue with Helen. He ignored her, opened his tablet, and turned the screen toward me.
"Mr. Mercer, your contract gives SunHarvest full maintenance authority over this equipment."
I said I never signed anything giving them that.
He tapped the screen. "You signed electronically at installation."
The document he showed me was forty-seven pages long. My installation contract had been twelve pages. I remembered it because Mia read it over my shoulder at the kitchen table, joking that I was signing away the roof.
"This isn't my contract," I said.
Travis scrolled without looking up. "Customers sign the current service agreement. It's standard."
Officer Ruth Delgado stepped closer and looked at the tablet.
"Where did this version come from?" she asked.
Travis said the company updated its terms. The system recorded the customer's acceptance.
"When?"
"During the last firmware update."
I told him I never agreed to a firmware update.
"You agreed to updates when you signed," he said.
Ruth asked him to put the tablet down. He didn't. She asked again, slower. He set it on the truck bed.
I asked what the document said about my roof.
Travis glanced at Helen. "It grants SunHarvest permanent access to the array, the inverter, the home network, and the electrical panel for maintenance and monitoring."
He said the words like they were nothing. Permanent access. My home network. My electrical panel.
Helen said, "Read the data clause."
Travis said there was no need for that.
"Read it," Ruth said.
He scrolled. A clause near the end authorized data collection from devices connected to my Wi-Fi. Security cameras. Phones. Door locks. Motion sensors. Helen had been right about the mailbox notes β or would have been, if they'd ever reached me.
I asked when that clause was added.
Travis said, "You purchased the electricity it produces. The equipment remains part of our managed network."
The sentence landed wrong in my head. I had paid for the panels. Twenty-two thousand dollars after the rebate. I remembered the wire transfer.
Ruth radioed for backup. Her voice stayed calm, but she moved so that she was between Travis and his truck.
"Open the rear of the truck," she said.
Travis said the replacement panel was company property. She said she'd heard him, and asked again.
He opened it. The new panel lay inside, labeled with my address in clean printed letters. Helen pointed at his equipment case.
"Ask him why he carries three cellular transmitters."
Ruth asked.
Travis said they were standard diagnostic tools.
"Open the case."
He refused.
A second car pulled up. The woman who got out wore no uniform β dark jacket, badge clipped to her belt. She introduced herself as Investigator Dana Cole, county cybercrimes. She carried a folded paper.
"I have a search authorization," she said. "Connected to an existing SunHarvest investigation."
Travis's hands stopped moving. That was the first crack in him β a half-second where his fingers forgot what they were doing.
"Open the case, Mr. Cole."
He did.
Inside were miniature cameras. Wireless receivers. Memory cards in small labeled sleeves.
Dana lifted one sleeve. A street address. Then another. And another.
She counted without saying anything. Four cards bore my address. Seven bore Grace's. One bore the address of Sophie's school.
Helen made a sound I can't describe. Not a cry. More like air leaving a room.
Travis said the equipment belonged to SunHarvest's security division.
Dana asked, "What does the security division protect?"
He didn't answer.
Dana set the cards in a row on the truck bed like evidence at a trial. Her gloves moved slowly, methodically. I counted again to make sure I'd seen right. Four with my street. Seven with Grace's.
"Why would seven cards carry her address?" I asked.
Dana said that was the question the whole investigation had been trying to answer for months.
Ruth asked about the three homes that reported suspicious devices inside SunHarvest installations. Dana nodded.
"The company said they measured roof temperature. Each device disappeared before our team arrived."
"Disappeared how?" Ruth asked.
"A technician came for a routine visit. Afterward, there was nothing to examine."
She looked at Travis. He looked at the asphalt.
"Mr. Cole," Dana said, "you're going to want to think carefully about your next answers. This stops being a company policy problem the moment we find one device."
From the roof, the fire department's ladder truck turned onto the street. Ruth had called them before Travis arrived β I hadn't noticed, but she must have, right after the handcuffs.
"Why the fire department?" I asked her.
"Because someone needs to remove panel six," she said. "And I don't trust anyone in a white truck to do it."