I didn’t chase her. I just reached into my heavy denim jacket and pulled out my smartphone.
Outside in the parking lot, Cordelia sprinted toward her pristine white Tesla Model X. She was screaming about persecution, fumbling blindly in her designer purse for her keys. Agent Martinez and two deputies burst through the doors right behind her.
Cornered, panicked, and out of options, Cordelia hit the panic button on her key fob, hoping the flashing lights and blaring alarm would create enough confusion for her to slip into the driver’s seat.
A piercing, rhythmic chirp tore through the night air.
One thousand, two hundred hertz.
Four hundred yards away, in the dark pasture adjacent to the parking lot, 2,200 pounds of muscle and horn locked onto the sound.
I opened the DIY gate-control app I had built for under two hundred dollars. My thumb hovered over the digital toggle. I looked at the ancient oak trees silhouetted against the night sky—Sarah’s trees. Then, I pressed the button.
