When I saw the cruel message scrawled on my recovering grandpa’s dusty car, I was livid. But uncovering the culprit’s identity was just the beginning. What I did next would teach this entitled neighbor a lesson she’d never forget. Two months ago, I was at work when my phone rang. It was Mom. “Meg, it’s Grandpa,” she barely managed to speak. “He’s in the hospital. He—” “What? Hospital?” I cut her off, totally blindsided. “What happened?” “He had a heart attack,” Mom continued in her shaky voice. “We gotta go see him.” “Oh my God, Mom, is he okay?”“I don’t know, Meg…”“