By noon my nephew Daniel was crouched by the outlet, installing a hidden submeter with the same gentle patience Robert once used on leaky faucets. We watched, days later, as the readings rolled in: hours of charging, line after line of theft, every kilowatt neatly timestamped. I could have gone to the police. Instead, I chose something slower, sharper. Daniel added a smart relay and a motion‑triggered floodlight, all controlled from an app on my phone. That night, when Monica plugged in again, I let her car drink for two hours, then tapped the screen. Her charging session died mid‑stream. Fifteen minutes later, she stomped outside, reset the cable, and went back in. I cut it again. Each time she thought the problem was fixed, I killed the power, until frustration twisted into unease. On the final cut, the floodlight exploded to life, drenching her in white as her car went dark and she let out a piercing, terrified scr… Continues…