Chapter 6 - Detective HartleyI went home and documented everything — screenshots of the listing, guest reviews, dates, photographs, camera footage. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I realized some of the people on camera weren't Byron's friends or relatives. They were rental guests.
I called Desmond. "Come home when you can. We need to make some calls."
We contacted our homeowner's insurance company first, to understand what liability we might have faced if a guest had been injured. Then we contacted the rental platform and reported the unauthorized use of our property. Finally, we called the non-emergency police line and were connected with Detective Marisol Hartley, who handled property-related fraud cases.
She asked us to come in. We brought everything. She carefully reviewed the timeline, the recordings, the rental listing, and our documentation. The unauthorized entry was relatively straightforward. The financial side was more complicated — to establish fraud, investigators needed to determine whether guests had specifically paid for access to a hot tub Byron falsely represented as belonging to his rental. The listing itself helped. So did guest communications.
"Leave that part to us," Hartley said. She also asked us not to contact Byron directly. We agreed.
The investigation lasted about three weeks. Life continued strangely normally — Desmond worked, I traveled, we even used our own hot tub twice. There was something satisfying about reclaiming it. Byron still waved whenever he saw us. We waved back.
Within several days of our report, the rental platform removed his listing.
Four days later, Byron knocked on our door. He had no idea about Detective Hartley — as far as he knew, our disagreement had ended at the backyard confrontation. The disappearance of his listing clearly worried him.
"Whitney," he said. "I know things became uncomfortable between us. I was hoping we could clear everything up." He paused. "I want to be honest about something."
I waited.
He admitted he had "occasionally" allowed rental guests to use our hot tub. Occasionally. A small mistake. An overstep. Something that had gotten out of hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I want to make things right. Whatever you think is fair."
I thought about fourteen months of bookings. The reviews. The electricity. The maintenance. The chemicals. Every person who'd walked through our gate believing our backyard was part of the property they'd rented.
"I'll let you know what I think is fair."
He looked visibly relieved and went home.
Two days later, Detective Hartley called. Byron had been charged with fraud and criminal trespass. The rental platform had provided booking and payment records covering the full fourteen months his listing was active. Several guests had also received messages explicitly stating a private hot tub was included with their rental. The evidence was far clearer than investigators had initially expected.
"He was arrested?" I asked.
May you like
"Earlier this morning."
I sat quietly. I'd wanted consequences. I'd wanted this handled seriously. But I hadn't fully pictured what that would look like once the legal system got involved.
