Kenda Culpepper has been the county’s top prosecutor for eighteen years — and somehow the cases against the connected keep vanishing. A teacher accused of abusing
a child, returned to a classroom. A district attorney who struck and killed a crossing guard,
never charged. That is not tough on crime.
That is one set of rules for the club, and another for everyone who had to earn their way in.
You earned Rockwall. You built the business, made the payments, chose the schools, and moved
your family somewhere that was supposed to be better — and better protected. She was handed
her seat and has kept it for eighteen years. She summers where the club summers and runs the
county from a comfortable distance, because to her Rockwall was never something to build. It
was something to inherit.
And it isn’t only that she’s connected — she’s careless with it. She and her husband, a
former judge, hauled their own property-tax bill to the Texas Court of Appeals and couldn’t
file the paperwork on time; the case was thrown out. Two lawyers who can’t manage their own
taxes — deciding which of yours gets justice.
And the establishment’s choices land on what you paid for. Soft on the border, soft on the
connected — while the community you invested in absorbs the cost. The club keeps the
convenience and ships the consequences to the people who actually built something here.
They were handed it. You built it. And they still think you don’t belong.
Here’s what the club counts on: that you’ll fall in line. You didn’t on school choice. You
stood with Ken Paxton when the establishment came for him. You’ve broken ranks before — and you
were right.