“Cynthia Vale. I'm the HOA president.”
The officer paused.
“I didn't ask your position.”
Cynthia blinked.
“My name is Cynthia Vale.”
“And the man's name?”
“Daniel Brooks.”
The officer looked at Daniel.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“Do you own this vehicle?”
“Yes.”
Cynthia interrupted.
“He's lying.”
The officer raised one hand.
“Ma'am, I'm going to let him answer.”
Daniel nodded.
“I've owned it for eight years.”
“Do you have registration?”
“Inside.”
“Title?”
“Inside.”
“Insurance?”
“Yes.”
The officer looked at Cynthia.
“Do you have proof of purchase?”
Cynthia immediately held out her phone.
“Yes.”
The officer examined it.
Daniel watched her expression.
At first, confidence.
Then uncertainty.
Then something close to fear.
The officer looked at the Camaro's VIN.
Then at Daniel's documents.
Then at Cynthia's purchase agreement.
Finally, she looked directly at Cynthia.
“Ma'am, I think you have been scammed.”
Cynthia's mouth fell open.
“What?”
The officer held up the phone.
“This document doesn't prove you bought this vehicle from its legal owner.”
Cynthia shook her head.
“But I paid.”
“I understand.”
“Eighteen thousand dollars.”
“I understand.”
“He gave me the title.”
The officer looked at the digital document.
“Did he give you the original?”
“No.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No.”
“Did you inspect the vehicle?”
“No.”
The officer slowly shook her head.
“Then you didn't buy this car.”
Cynthia looked toward Daniel.
For the first time since she had arrived, she seemed to see him as something other than an obstacle.
Daniel said nothing.
The officer handed her phone back.
Then she looked at Daniel.
“Mr. Brooks, I'm going to need to verify your ownership.”
Daniel nodded.
“Take whatever you need.”
He had no idea that this simple verification would eventually uncover something much larger than a fake car sale.
Because the person who had stolen Cynthia's money had not randomly chosen Daniel's Camaro.
Someone had known that car existed.
Someone had known what it was worth.
Someone had obtained photographs that were never supposed to be public.
And someone inside Stonebridge Estates had helped them.
Daniel went inside and returned with a black document folder.
It was thick enough to make Cynthia uncomfortable.
The officer opened it.
Registration.
Insurance.
Maintenance records.
Restoration invoices.
A bill of sale dated eight years earlier.
The original title.
The VIN matched.
Every document pointed to the same conclusion.
The Camaro belonged to Daniel Brooks.
Cynthia stood silently.
The older officer, whose name was Samuel Ortega, studied the fake paperwork on her phone.
“This title is good-looking,” he said.
Cynthia looked hopeful.
“So you see?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“I said it's good-looking.”
Officer Ortega zoomed in.
“The state changed its title format two years ago.”
Cynthia stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means whoever created this document copied an older template.”
Daniel leaned against the garage wall.
The female officer looked at him.
“Where did you purchase your vehicle?”
“Virginia.”
“Private seller?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason it would have been listed recently?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Cynthia suddenly spoke.
“The photographs were real.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“The photographs in the advertisement.”
She turned the phone toward him.
“I recognized your car immediately.”
Daniel took the phone carefully.
The first photograph showed the Camaro outside his garage.
The second showed it at a charity car show.
The third showed the interior.
The fourth showed the engine.
All real.
All his.
But the fifth photograph made Daniel's stomach tighten.
It showed the Camaro inside his garage.
The old garage.
Before he had renovated it.
Before he replaced the cabinets.
Before he installed the new lights.
“This picture,” he said.
“What about it?” Cynthia asked.
“It wasn't public.”
Officer Hayes looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Daniel enlarged the image.
On the wall behind the Camaro was an old wooden shelf.
A calendar hung beside it.
The date was visible.
“That's from three years ago.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's when I had the original cabinets.”
Officer Ortega looked at Cynthia.
“Who has access to your neighborhood property records?”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Please answer.”
“The HOA board. Property management. Certain contractors.”
“What kind of property records?”
“Inspection reports. Exterior photographs. Sometimes interior photographs if residents approve them.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Interior?”
“During compliance inspections.”
“You photographed inside my garage?”
Cynthia stiffened.
“It was part of a voluntary inspection program.”
“Voluntary?”
“You signed the form.”
Daniel remembered.
Three years earlier, the HOA had conducted a broad inspection after several homeowners had converted garages into illegal apartments.
Daniel had allowed an inspector inside.
The inspector had taken photographs.
Daniel had forgotten about it.
Until now.
Officer Hayes looked at Cynthia.
“Are those photographs stored digitally?”
“Yes.”
“Who manages the system?”
“Stonebridge Community Services.”
“Who can download files?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“That answer is getting expensive.”
Cynthia shot him a look.
He stopped.
The officer made a call.
Thirty-five minutes later, Detective Maya Collins arrived.
She wasn't dramatic.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't even look surprised when she heard the story.
She simply sat on the edge of Daniel's workbench and examined the evidence.
Fake title.
Payment receipt.
Advertisement.
Photographs.
Registration.
Inspection records.