Saturday afternoon, my son held up a toy his grandparents had sent—a pink collectible thing, a Laboo, about sixty bucks retail.
“Dad, look what Grandma and Grandpa sent me.”
I glanced up from my laptop. “That’s cool, bud.”
Ethan squeezed it, then stopped and held it closer. “Dad, why is there a red light inside?”
My fingers froze.
“What?”
He turned it around and pointed at the eye. A tiny red LED was blinking in the hollow interior, and my stomach dropped.
I stood, walked over, and kept my voice level. “Let me see that for a second.”
He handed it over—good kid, the kind who still trusted his dad.
I examined it under the lamp and there it was: an infrared LED. Normally invisible, but the angle caught it.
“When did this arrive?”
“This morning. There was a card.” He recited it from memory like it mattered.
“Happy early birthday, Ethan. Love, Grandma and Grandpa.”
His birthday was next week, not today.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “I need to borrow this.”
“Why?”
“Battery issue.”
“Okay.”
He went back to his Legos, unbothered and safe.
I walked to the garage, closed the door, stared at that blinking light, and didn’t smash it. I didn’t shout. I just thought.
I grabbed my smallest screwdriver and worked the seam open, slow and careful.
Inside wasn’t stuffing.
It was a camera module—tiny lens, circuit board, microphone, rechargeable battery pack. My hands stayed steady. My breathing didn’t.
I photographed everything, then Googled the model.
SC400 wireless spy camera.
$119 on Amazon. Wi‑Fi enabled. Cellular backup.
Live streaming. Cloud storage.
I checked the activation timestamp. Active since 9:47 this morning.
Five hours ago.
They’d been watching since Ethan opened the box.
I reassembled it and placed it in a plastic evidence bag, sealed it, labeled it.
Exhibit A.
I didn’t destroy it.
Evidence stays intact.
I sat in my garage and let myself think about how we got here.
My parents are Robert and Linda. We used to be close.
Then two years ago my grandfather passed away and left a trust fund for Ethan. $180,000.
He made me the trustee. No withdrawals until Ethan turns eighteen.
Grandpa didn’t trust my father with money. Robert declared bankruptcy in his thirties—bad investments, worse decisions.
But things changed.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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