My trail cameras should have caught anything, but when I check the footage, there's a two-hour gap where the cameras mysteriously malfunctioned.
Professional jamming equipment.
Which means Viv's hired people who know what they're doing.
I immediately call Agent Reeves.
"Agent Reeves, I think I've had visitors today. Professional ones. My security system was jammed, and there are tire tracks from heavy vehicles."
"Mr. Forester, we've been monitoring communications that suggest Mrs. Ashworth has hired a private military contractor based in Arizona. Former Special Forces guys who specialize in asset protection and intelligence gathering for wealthy clients facing legal problems."
Asset protection.
Corporate speak for intimidation, surveillance, and sometimes worse.
"We're tracking them, but they're good at staying just inside legal boundaries."
The next morning brings news that makes the situation even more surreal.
Viv has apparently called a press conference to announce that she's filing for political asylum in Mexico, claiming persecution by what she calls the American Deep State Environmental Terrorism Complex.
The woman is actually planning to flee the country rather than face federal charges.
But her escape plan hits a snag when customs agents at Denver International Airport arrest her trying to board a private jet with two suitcases full of cash, gold coins, and bearer bonds worth approximately $3 million.
The federal charges keep piling up.
Money laundering.
Tax evasion.
Attempting to flee prosecution.
And unlawful export of monetary instruments.
The justice system is making sure she won't see daylight again until she's collecting Social Security.
Knowledge nugget.
Federal prosecutors can file additional charges for attempting to flee prosecution, and moving large amounts of cash or valuables across international borders without proper declaration is a separate federal crime with mandatory minimum sentences.
Takeaway: When facing federal charges, running makes everything worse. Prosecutors view flight as consciousness of guilt and will add years to any eventual sentence.
That night, Jake calls with the final update on Viv's private military contractors.
"Good news, Deck. FBI raided their compound in Arizona this morning. Turns out they weren't just doing asset protection. They were running weapons to cartel groups in Mexico.
"Your harassment case just helped the feds bust an international arms-trafficking ring."
I'm still processing this when he delivers the best news of all.
"Viv's in federal custody without bond. Her lawyer husband is cooperating with prosecutors to avoid a 20-year sentence. The county commissioner is pleading guilty and agreeing to testify about the bribery scheme. And the private military guys are looking at federal weapons-trafficking charges that carry life sentences."
The taste of victory is sweeter than morning coffee.
But there's still one more act to this drama.
"Jake, when's the trial?"
"There won't be one. Viv's attorney, her new court-appointed attorney since she can't afford private counsel anymore, is negotiating a plea deal. Prosecutors are offering 15 years in federal prison in exchange for full cooperation and asset forfeiture."
"Fifteen years? Jake, she's 64 years old and facing charges that could put her away for life."
"Fifteen years is essentially a life sentence, and she knows it."
As I hang up the phone and look out at the valley that's finally peaceful again, I realize that justice isn't always swift.
But sometimes it's absolutely perfect.